Restoration
by Demonic Weasel
Summary: As the backdrop of war in Rune has ended, kingdoms must be rebuilt against a new lack of consensus. The heroes of Cypress and Guardiana must work around new fissures in their relationships with each other and the world.
1. Chapter 1

Restoration:

Chapter 1

Seen a shooting star tonight  
And I thought of me.  
If I was still the same  
If I ever became what you wanted me to be  
Did I miss the mark or  
Over-step the line  
That only you could see?  
Seen a shooting star tonight  
And I thought of me.

From "Shooting Star" (2nd verse) by Bob Dylan

Copyright ©1989 Special Rider Music

The king was hard at justice this morning, not that there was anything very remarkable in that. The king was hard at justice nearly every morning. Mayfair stood, silently waiting for him to acknowledge her presence for approximately six seconds after entering the room whilst he continued scanning what looked like a letter.

Then King Nicholas II rose, polite as always. "Ah. I don't believe that I summoned you, but it occurs to me that there are several points to be brought up nonetheless. Please, be seated."

Mayfair nodded, allowing him to dictate the meeting. As she settled into one of his luxuriantly polished chairs, the king returned to his own, steepling his fingers. Mayfair wasn't quite certain, but she thought she saw a spark of interest in his eyes this morning.

"What is it, specifically, that brings you here, general?"

Mayfair winced at the formality; upon his coronation, one of the first things Nick had done was to pressure her into accepting that rather prestigious appointment. He had made some rather interesting arguments that had eventually swayed her; some of them amusing, and others merely intriguing because she had not previously considered herself from the perspective that Nick evidently had. Despite all of his cold logic, however, she couldn't help suspecting that this was Nick's own, rather obscure, way of paying further court to her. It was difficult to read that in him, however.

"For one," she offered, "I've received another letter from Lady Aela."

Nick's face was perfectly composed, but she caught a hint of anger lacing his tone. "That woman is persistent. Very well, I take it that she now threatens to visit the capital?"

"Yes." Mayfair shared her king's distaste for Lady Aela, but she wasn't certain that Nick was fully aware of the dangers that surrounded the late Lord Vensic's sister. "Truth be told, Your Grace," she warned him, "the insult was deeply felt in the east when you named Lady Sarah your Warden of the East and Mistress of the Citadel."

"Lady Aela is as much a snake as Vensic ever was. I will not let her control the richest and most populous region of Cypress."

"Assuming that tradition holds," Mayfair pointed out. "Now that Iom is considered part of Cypress, depending on how Lord Deanna manages to restore those lands, the eastern isles may no longer be the most powerful region in Cypress."

"Granted," Nicholas replied. "That changes nothing insofar as Aela is concerned, however. I would not have any part of my domain ruled by a treacherous snake, and that is what the Lady Aela is. And I believe that you overrate the 'insult' in Lady Sarah's appointment. Yes, there may be some initial bad feeling, but the Lady Sarah has an ability to inspire loyalty beyond obedience…" He broke off, another slight note of anger lacing his tone.

Mayfair was almost absurdly relieved at the sound of it. Anger wasn't precisely an admirable sentiment, but it was, at the least, a sign that Nick was still human. Ever since reclaiming Cypress, Nick had coldly devoted himself to his duties with a precision and logicality that was less human than anything Mayfair had ever seen before. And yet, she had known Nick before he had taken on the crown, and she had seen that though he was always logical, he was not as emotionless as he oft seemed to try to be.

Nick in the meantime was musing aloud, "Nonetheless, though she is not trustworthy, should she visit Castle Cypress there is advantage to be had in this. The nobles have not been laggardly swearing me their support, but if the Lady Aela and I meet and set aside our differences… the symbolism will be monumental to say the least."

"You know that there's only one reason she would come here at all, only one thing that will satisfy her to make peace with you."

"Yes, I know that she wants to be the queen of Cypress. That's not what I have to give her to obtain her support, however. Aela isn't stupid enough to defy me."

Feeling the color rising in her cheeks at that subtle rebuke, Mayfair said coldly, "Lady Aela would make an excellent queen. Should you wed her, you would also wed most of the rest of the realm to yourself; they would be able to see that they did not have an unreasonable king. And should Aela choose to rise against you, now would be the best time she could possibly choose."

"An incorrect assumption," Nick fired back. "For the first time in nearly two years, I have writ an unquestionable end to the hostilities that the Usurper instigated. My lords are tired of war and wary of angering the man who has brought peace. Furthermore they have proof that I am not unreasonable; I have pardoned every man who has laid down his sword and sworn fealty to me. I have welcomed all back into the king's peace."

Mayfair could feel her own anger rising in response to Nick's calm and soulless assertions. "And yet you executed that man, Bulldor, for crimes that each of those lords committed in serving either your uncle _or_ Uglu."

"Bulldor was one of the most trusted lieutenants of a proven regicide. Justice demanded his execution. It did also serve as a message to the nobles, yes, but it was justice that compelled me to take his head off." Nick leant forward then, his tone subtly intensifying. "It all flows from justice, Mayfair. Remember that."

Anger and sympathy warred within her for a few moments, but sympathy quickly won out. Against the harsh demands of the single most responsible position in the world, the knowledge that he'd been betrayed countless times, the fact that he'd had to fight his own uncle, and the death of Ruce, was it any wonder if he was a little brittle? But that, in and of itself brought up another concern. Though Nick was mostly unreadable, there was no masking the weariness in his eyes, nor the dark circles that had appeared beneath them. He looked so natural sitting behind his hardwood, polished, desk, working busily on restoring Cypress, but he was fast taking it to dangerous levels.

"Your Grace," she began carefully, knowing that the significance of the formal address would not be lost on him, "You're pushing yourself too hard, doing too much and too quickly. You need to slow down before you kill yourself."

"No. As it is, I'm not doing enough. My duties must come first."

"Nick, you're killing yourself with overwork."

"You vastly overestimate the factors involved. My dear, Cypress is recovering from a collapsed economy, nearly two years worth of constant war, a rash of unlawfulness, a scarcity of the common necessities… These early days will invariably be the hardest, the most demanding and it is imperative that we respond to these problems vigorously. Not with alacrity, you understand, but with shrewd foreign policy, enforcing of strong domestic law… with speed that is augmented by ration."

Mayfair sat there, silent for some moments. Nick was right of course, he always was. Though valuable, it was not always his most lovable of attributes. But then, Nick did not possess lovable attributes. That in itself was a tragedy. "Of course," she responded, "but you're still doing too much, more than you yourself can handle. What good will it do Cypress if you do collapse of exhaustion?"

He chuckled lightly. "Your point is taken, my lady. As is your… concern. Very well, we'll continue this discussion later. Dine with me this evening and we'll consider everything else then."

The abrupt offer surprised her only slightly. If King Nicholas II wished to have a discussion of policy with his officials in such an atmosphere as to diffuse their tension, well that was one thing. But she knew Nick well enough to know that he would have wanted to dine with her regardless. The intensity of the desire that he couldn't quite conceal was sometimes quite frightening. But Mayfair didn't think he'd actually hurt her, and anyway, as Nick himself had said, a king had his duties. So too, did Mayfair. She quietly took her leave of him, hoping that he would take her words to heart.

---

"Stop. No, not you, stay. Here, boy." So saying, Lord Commander Randolph casually flipped a coin at the smaller of the two young men whom he had been studying. "For your trouble," he added, dismissing the boy from his thoughts.

The centaur slowly padded forward, his eye critically scanning the boy he had prompted to remain. Somewhat heavy looking, with curly hair, the lad awkwardly dropped to his knees. "M'lord," he began, but Randolph cut straight through that.

"Silence," he snapped, still looking the boy up and down. Finally he said, "You've a good arm lad. The truth now. Where did you fight before?"

The boy looked startled. "Nowhere, really. M'lord," he muttered.

"No," Randolph mused aloud, "too young to have fought with the Freedom Fighters." He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "We'll take you, lad. Run along to the barracks, just tell them that I sent you." The boy gaped at him, joy written across his features.

"For true, m'lord?"

Randolph seized the lad's arm, using his free hand to gesture at the streaking scar running down the right side of his face. "See that, boy? See it? That's what war is. Hard, cruel, mean. Hope that you never see it." He released the boy, hard. "Now go."

The boy scampered off fast enough, throwing only one nervous glance back over his shoulder. Randolph stood there feeling slightly chagrined. _My bloody temper_, he thought disgustedly. _Shouldn't have scared the boy, he'd learn the truth soon enough anyway. _

He stamped at the ground angrily. He'd even forgotten to ask the lad his name. That was a shame, but not too important. Randolph prided himself on the fact that he never forgot a face… or a name.

He moodily kicked at a clump of dirt. Who was he trying to fool anyway? Loyalty was a basic part of his nature; it was the lads that King Nicholas had ordered him to recruit that angered him. Randolph had entered the ranks of the royal guards at a young age and he had ended up proving himself a tough, relentless, dutiful warrior. He had done it all for Cypress and for pride. And now, hiring these callow youths just to watch them losing their innocence day by day… _that_ was swallowing pride.

He turned away with an angry toss of the head. What was done was done, and anyway his king had commanded it of him. The Cypress army was mostly dead, new recruits were necessary. Randolph only hoped that he could find pride in the men he recruited, though he supposed that General Mayfair would actually see to them.

Still, even if Randolph had his regrets, they were ones that he could live with. He had not done anything dishonorable, nor had he betrayed his duty to his king. Nodding his head very slightly, the centaur peered absently at the sun. It was red and fast vanishing from sight. Nearly night, in fact. Strange that he hadn't noticed, but then he had been rather preoccupied.

Randolph strode off boldly, eager to make his report to the king and then to retire for the evening. A feather-bed would be most welcome after all of his wearying toil. His senses were still trained enough, however, that he caught the slightest flicker of shadow before he heard the heavy, typically flamboyant steps of the approaching figure.

"Ah, my good and dear friend. The Lord Commander himself!"

Randolph turned to face the rapidly approaching Captain Alexandros. The man jingled with each step, the glittering rings on his fingers being the most eye-drawing of his accessories. Fat and free with his friendly ways and easy smiles, Alexandros was still no friend of Randolph. "What is it, Captain?"

Alexandros clapped a heavy, sweating hand onto Randolph's shoulder. "Yes, yes, my good and dear Lord Commander Randolph! You must come and enjoy my grapes; this is your good fortune for being the friend of Alexandros!"

He shook off the clasping hand, his voice flat. "Unfortunately I must make my way to the king. Your grapes shall have to wait, Captain."

Alexandros's smile sharpened like a wolf. "Ah, indeed, our good and noble King Nicholas II, may there never be another!" He tossed back his head and laughed uproariously.

Randolph said coldly, "I suggest that you keep such gibes to yourself, Captain." The Lord Commander would tolerate no insult to his king. The centaur had known three lawful kings in his lifetime and never had he known such an awe-inspiring man as Nicholas II.

Alexandros looked abashed; it was a gift of his. The pirate's face could change at whim. "Oh, my, no, no, we mustn't make mock of the good king. It is laughter he dislikes, King Nicholas likes serious faces and sharp commands, Alexandros shall remember." He clapped his hand back onto Randolph's shoulder. "But seeing that you are speaking to King Nicholas, perhaps you may be reminding himself that faithful Alexandros still has none of the gold promised him."

"King Nicholas will see you paid, Captain. The king always keeps his oaths."

"Promises, yes," the pirate complained. "Alexandros has no end of promises from the good king. Alexandros would like more gold and fewer papers."

"Of course." Randolph forced a smile. "I'll be sure to mention it, Captain. Now you really must excuse me." He strode off at that, not caring if it was rude or not. Alexandros was hardly the first man Randolph had despised and still been forced to cooperate with, but it galled him to have to submit to the brigand's familiarity now.

During the war, Captain Alexandros, little better than a pirate mercenary, had chosen to smuggle supplies to the Freedom Fighters, loyally and consistently. King Nicholas owed him a great debt, Randolph doubted that the Freedom Fighters would have prevailed without the pirate's aid. Nonetheless, the man was a criminal. And that aside, Randolph had no taste for these intrigues, these duels with words. He disliked flatterers even more, and the captain oozed of flattery.

Randolph shook his head; it did no good to focus on his distaste for Alexandros. He owed the former pirate a great debt, as did King Nicholas. It would be better to remember the good points.

He strode in through the doors, answering the shouts of the guards good-naturedly, tired though he was. A military man, Randolph prided himself on being a commander who was on good terms with all his soldiers. And it was then that Lord Commander Randolph was accosted for the second time that day.

"Lord Commander."

The voice was light, friendly, youthful. Yet it was another that Randolph recognized and held scant love for. He turned his voice heavy with courtesy. "Lady Yeesha."

The mage studied him boldly, her blue eyes lively. "The king sent me to escort you to a small personal dinner."

That did surprise Randolph, not so much because of the dinner itself as… "You are to dine with us as well, my lady?"

"I do believe that His Grace mentioned something about that." Her tone was the same as before, but the words were heavy with mockery. That was another reason Randolph had little love for this particular mage; frivolity angered him. But it was not his place to comment on such, so he dutifully offered her his arm. The king had need of them both.

---

Despite his royal upbringing, Nick had never liked heavy meals. It was his habit to take some fruit and bread to break his fast, a light lunch, and then a somewhat heavier dinner, though, from what he had seen of other noble tables, it was still light in relative terms. Still, he did honor by those lords and ladies he must needs win and those councilors he must needs keep. Nonetheless, in these troubled times, Nick found it best to keep his table frugal, regardless, and so he had.

The king sat in his chair, leaning forward very slightly as he steepled his long fingers. It was an effect designed to inspire confidence in those he had asked to sup with him this eve. It was not quite the point in the meal where matters of policy would be discussed by his estimation, but it wasn't far off now either.

Abruptly, he decided to mix up the evening a bit. "Lady Yeesha," he murmured as his eye scanned the court mage critically, "you have taken the time to dress, I see."

The slightest bit of a laugh escaped from Yeesha's mouth as she replied, "You are too kind to say so, Your Grace."

He could see the laughter in her face. Nick managed to refrain from frowning, but it troubled him. He never trusted what a man or woman told him when they were laughing. Laughter was a poison. He turned his gaze to his Lord Commander. "Tell me, Randolph, how goes the recruiting?"

The centaur's lips twisted very slightly as he took a sip of wine. "Well, Your Grace. Truth to tell, I was surprised at how many we've found thus far and how quickly. A stroke of providence."

Nick arched a brow, curious at the dissatisfaction he was reading in Randolph. "Too well, you think?"

The centaur was not slow in responding. "Aye. Aye, Your Grace." He scratched at his scar momentarily and, Nick was fairly certain, deliberately. "The need for rebuilding our forces has never been more pronounced than now, but I fear for the state of our army nonetheless. We have too many green recruits."

"No matter. They shall be blooded, eventually, and by that point it won't matter any further."

"The blooding is a dangerous process, Your Grace. It is not unusual to lose men in it. It is too much for some… some grow to like the taste of blood too well, as well. I don't wish to overstate the dangers, but better that than to understate them, Your Grace. I am concerned."

Nick paused for a moment, considering the point as he cracked a piece of bread in his hands. "A reasonable point, Lord Commander, but Cypress has no standing army now, only some few veterans of the Freedom Fighters. The Royal Guard must be reestablished. I trust that you will be able to minimize the risks involved whilst General Mayfair works on training the troops."

Mayfair pushed her plate away, amused skepticism on her face. "I will? You haven't exactly been pressing the duties of a general on me, Nick."

"Ah. So that's what's been troubling you."

"Considering my appointment, you haven't seemed very interested in having me work on your armies for you."

Nick took the last bite of fish, chewed, swallowed, and then said, "Consider this for a moment, General. In battle, do I serve my forces best by my own prowess with a blade, or with tactical decisions?"

"The answer to that is fairly obvious."

"Exactly." Nick leant back contentedly in his chair. "Both you and the Lord Commander are heroes to these recruits, but just as there are different talents on a battlefield; there are different kinds of legends. Lord Commander Randolph is undoubtedly a warrior of amazing prowess. He has the ability to inspire confidence and loyalty, but most importantly, he can work with them on a military level beyond training. You, on the other hand, have the gift to inspire a different kind of loyalty and you have a flair for organization, a way to inspire inner confidence, the ability to give these young warriors something to aspire to. Your natural talents equip you to train them, and you are… an emblem for them." He could feel his jaw clenching slightly as he finished.

_And twice now you have refused to be the same for me. _

"I see," said Mayfair, her voice not quite cool. But then, she had probably felt the same tension enter the room as well.

"Regardless," Nick sighed, "there is little to discuss about military affairs until we have a military to speak of. Perhaps we should focus our attention on more solvable problems." He steepled his fingers again, studying these three advisors one by one, waiting to see what they would offer him.

Unsurprisingly, Lord Commander Randolph spoke first. "I encountered Captain Alexandros this afternoon, Your Grace. He requests that you remember your obligation to him." The centaur's tone revealed a certain degree of reservation about that proposition, reservation that Nick understood all too well.

He frowned. "Captain Alexandros does present something of a problem."

"I fail to see how that is." Mayfair's demeanor was very direct. "He is a factor that was directly responsible for winning the throne on which you sit. Duty compels you to do him honor."

The slightest hint of a smile brushed Nick's lips at that. It had been very deftly done. He doubted that he would have taken it for the rebuke that it was had Mayfair not been careful to use his own words. "The man has also been a pirate," he pointed out, "one of the foremost smugglers in all of Cypress. Justice demands that these crimes be punished." He frowned again. "Therein lies the difficulty. Merely fining Alexandros does nothing, he recoups his losses by means of the reward I am bound to bestow upon him. Jailing him for a time is essentially the same."

Mayfair stared. "That is an infantile use of the word 'justice,'" she said coldly. "Justice is not some absolute concept, Nick. It isn't immutable. Justice exists to serve the people, not to be locked into increasingly obscure points that serve no one."

"Justice is the basis on which the greater good rests," he retorted. "And anyway, I have no intention of ruling on the matter of Alexandros at this time. First it will be necessary to turn our attention to building… this." He handed her a piece of parchment, studying her closely. Mayfair exhaled sharply.

"This is… large-scale." She looked up, her face stunned, but not displeased. "Creating an institution of high court justice like this… forgive me if I am forward, Your Grace, but don't open petitions address this same concern?"

"It's not enough. East, south, west, north… all we do, we do for justice. We do it for Cypress. All matters of justice are equal, high or low, and all must be able to seek them. These courts will exist so that all may seek them." He leant forward, earnest now. "It all flows from justice," he told them.

Randolph's face paled, the scar at his eye tightening. It took Nick a moment to identify the cause. Of course, nearly twenty years as a guard would have bred certain prejudices into the centaur.

_Pride._ He needed to remember what he was dealing with here. The key was Randolph's pride. Still, that was something best dealt with privately. It would have to wait for now.

Mayfair, in the meantime, was objecting, "Much as I approve of the concept, Your Grace, the treasury cannot bear the expense."

"What treasury is that? Two years of constant warfare has bled off all of our gold. Economic measures are being enforced where they can, but the only way to stimulate an economy at this point is to create an influx of labor." He paused, absently noticing the frown creasing Mayfair's forehead. "Additionally, on that note, I've had a letter from the south. Lord Warden Cray seems to have made a smooth transition into power; much of the corruption has already been cleansed. He has also adopted the economic polices that I suggested, but it is too soon to see whether or not he'll be able to meet the quotas."

"I see." Mayfair's voice was less than pleased. She had opposed Cray's appointment, of course. Nick was confident that the one-eyed monk would be a splendid choice, however. He was from the south originally and he had been extremely useful to Nick in the war. Therefore the king had felt bound to reward him in some fashion, and Cray had suggested the appointment. Additionally, given the fact that Nick did not have a history with Cray, it made the monk appear more of an outsider and negated any potential arguments of nepotism on Nick's part. And he seemed to be very effective thus far. In the meantime, Mayfair was changing the subject.

"And from the north?"

"Nothing, as yet." That was a sore point, certainly. After consideration and a lack of excellent options, Nick had given the north to Shade. The archer had gone up there and they hadn't heard anything, as yet. Then again, he believed that Oskrim came from a northern family. Doubtless the red-bearded schemer was muddying the waters.

Mayfair cleared her throat. "That leaves Gyan."

Nick arched a puzzled brow at the significance in her tone. "Implying what, exactly?"

Randolph interposed quietly, "I think we were all surprised by my appointment, Your Grace. I certainly expected that you would have put Gyan in my place."

Nick lifted his goblet, playing for time. It was true, in all the ways that mattered, Gyan was a perfect fit for the post of Lord Commander. And he had been made Warden of the west instead. In retrospect, even Nick wasn't quite certain why he had made that decision, but that was not something for a king to admit. "With Ruce's death, you were an obvious candidate, Randolph. Especially given that my other most gifted choice was accompanying Lord Deanna back to Iom."

Randolph nodded his head slightly. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Mayfair didn't look entirely convinced, so Nick decided that now would be the time to press on relentlessly. "For that matter, talk as we will of domestic policy, the key to domestic strength also lies in a strong foreign policy. The lord of Pao, one Xotho I believe, has written to me, urging us to exchange emissaries. Given that Pao now has the closest port to Cypress in all of Rune, I see the necessity of a strong trade agreement as a priority… before Guardiana has a chance to step in and mediate. I've taken the liberty of drawing up our essential goals. I'll trust you to look over this, General, and be sure that we have a proper offer. Lord Orr shall undertake this task on our behalf."

Mayfair sputtered for a bare second. "Certainly, Your Grace."

"Additionally" he began, pulling a paper from his voluminous cloak, "I'd like you to begin work on this treaty with Guardiana. If at all possible, have it completed before Queen Anri's party has reached Guardiana. I should like to have this in hand by the time Guardiana tries to normalize relations in Cypress."

Mayfair took the paper wordlessly, already scanning it. "You've been very thorough, Nick."

"Naturally," he responded. "That's a king's duty." All in all, Nick was pleased with the way events had panned out. Cypress was in truly desperate straits, but he was working as quickly and effectively to reverse that as possible. Securing this treaty with Guardiana would hopefully finally resolve the question of Lord Max, and, most importantly, for the first time since the war, Nick could feel nothing by the cold wheels of logic working their way through his decisions. He belonged in this life, where he could do good through the application of justice. He no longer felt those foolish, irrational doubts nagging at him… Or at least, not often, anymore.

It was his duties that he could properly apply himself to now, and Nick was finding that task to be very satisfying. One of the only concerns that vexed him in any way now was that of his marital status. He must needs wed and soon. It was Mayfair that made him feel this uncharacteristic consternation. She had refused him, but surely she would do her duty…

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Yeesha stirred. "There is one problem with Iom, Your Grace."

Nick leant forward, layering his voice in such a way to put them all at ease. "Indeed? I fail to see it."

"Lord Deanna has not yet technically surrendered the sovereignty of Iom to Cypress, Your Grace." Yeesha smiled slightly as she spoke. "I only bring this up because a courier also delivered a missive from Iom to me, for Your Grace's eyes only."

At that, Nick sat up straight, perturbed. "Perhaps I might see this letter?"

Yeesha leant forward, silently handing it to him. Nick was so engrossed in wanting to read the missive that he scarcely registered noticing the rather low cut of Yeesha's gown. He read through the letter once, quickly, and then he took his time, studying each word with care. The letter was quite cool in tone, even for Lord Deanna.

"Gods be good," he swore as he finished for the second time. "Apparently Lord Deanna does have a few demands for his loyalty. He also requests leave to wed Natasha… indeed he says that he was encouraged to believe that there is no question as to that matter." Nick fought the mounting disbelief, his mind quickly responding to this new situation. It was imperative that Iom be set straight above all else at the moment. Without Iom firmly in Nick's hands, Warderer, presuming he had survived the assault on Skull Castle, might press a claim for the kingdom. Additionally, his security as sovereign of Cypress was built on the fact that his lords feared to face him in combat. Iom must needs be firmly in Nick's hands.

He stood. "Forgive the abrupt ending to this affair, but I fear that we must move with all due haste. General Mayfair, I shall require your presence I think. Also Sir Claude, if you will ask him to accompany us." He nodded several times before turning to Randolph. "In my absence you shall rule Castle Cypress, Lord Commander. Continue pursuing all of my policies vigorously and put off Captain Alexandros howsoever you must."

Randolph nodded silently, but Mayfair risked the obvious question. "Are we to take this to mean that you're…?"

"Of course. Where else would I be going, but Iom?" Nick asked with a dour smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Usurper was dead, but only when Nick was awake. His uncle was always waiting for him when he slept, that sly whispering voice. _A strong king acts boldly. _Shivering roughly despite the warmth of the night, Nick sat up pushing the coverlets away from him.

Oh yes, Edmond was certainly dead. Nick ought to know; he'd led the force that had killed him. "Didn't expect that, did you, Uncle?" Nick muttered. His memory of the Usurper was always the same. That slightly worried, quizzical expression even as the man roared with laughter, the sun shining down on his smoothly parted hair… _A strong king acts boldly_, the voice insisted.

Nick sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He would have no rest this night; his memories of his traitor uncle Edmond were unusually strong. Probably because the last time Nick had seen him before seeing him cut down had been sailing out of the Cypress harbor.

His hands worked quickly at pulling more appropriate dress on. The sleep was of little matter, a man wasted over a third of his life in sleep. Foolishness. The night offered as many hours of productivity as the day. It had been speed that had dictated this decision; Nick had developed a distinct distaste for sea travel. A boat was the fastest way to Iom, however, and speed was imperative. Except the last time he had left Cypress by way of boat, his uncle had not yet revealed his falseness.

Even now, Nick wondered how Woldol had done it. Even now, he wanted to believe that Edmond hadn't been swayed, that he had been controlled… but then, as now, Edmond Turncloak was the Usurper. A weak, foolish part of him still wanted to grieve for the man he'd known all his life, but Nick stifled that impulse with little effort. Edmond had been a traitor and justice had fallen to him. There was nothing more to consider there.

_Except…_ Nick still remembered all of those lords who had fought for his uncle. All of the ones he had pardoned out of necessity. All of the ones who bent the knee now but called _him_ Usurper behind his back. Still, Edmond was dead. Nick had been there, he had seen that bright, shining, gold-plated armor split open, he had seen Ruce's axe claim his uncle's lifeblood. It had been justice.

_Justice is not immutable_, her voice floated out of the darkness, enveloping his senses. _Justice is not immutable…_

The king belatedly realized that he had tensed up and was clutching tight at the little table in his cabin. He released his grip, intensely aware of the restlessness which had settled into him. That was what was bothering him, not the Usurper.

_Justice is not immutable_, Mayfair said, yet again. Nick shook his head numbly, well aware that he was in the right. Mayfair was kind, Mayfair was generous, Mayfair was compassionate. Mayfair had it within her spirit to forgive, to weaken her own judgment by foolish things. Mayfair could empathize, but she chose not to understand the demands of justice. Only through the application of absolute justice could the greater good be served. It was quite simple, really.

_Justice is not immutable_, she told him. Was that why she had refused him? Did she see him as inflexible, a fool? A transparent schemer? He had explained to her the necessity and still she had refused him… why? In answer, he heard both whispers again. _Justice is not immutable. A strong king acts boldly._ At that, Nick stood. This was the height of ridiculousness; he was justifying himself needlessly to a presence that wasn't even there. Hand shaking slightly, he poured himself a small cup of wine. As he swirled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing, Nick felt some of his good humor returning.

He had to hand it to Deanna; he had been taken completely by surprise. He would never have expected this defiance from those quarters. The young lord had even timed this perfectly. Nick had been concentrating on the eventual need to confront Guardiana again. On the one hand, the fact that Anri was taking the throne was useful; it would mean that ultimately Lord Max's power would be limited in a way it never had been during the war. On the other hand, Nick had spent so much time working on Lord Max that he now feared he might hold inadequate sway over Queen Anri…

Still, there was no point in going over old ground now. It was Iom he needed to focus on. Iom and Lord Warden Deanna. As he took the last swallow of wine, Nick realized that it was disgustingly hot in his cabin. After a brief moment during which he considered going back to sleep (_a strong king acts boldly, _came the whisper) he strode over to the door and unlatched it, stepping out onto the deck. It was very dark and the night was disappointingly humid. Fortunately there seemed to be a fair amount of wind.

Although it was not relieving as it could have been, it was only the feel of the wind that made him realize just how sweat-drenched his skin had been. He slowly paced forward, taking note of the sailors on the duty. They also took note of him, but then promptly ignored him. Nick smiled. The seeming universal irreverence of sailors pleased him in some way. They had a job to do whether or not they were carrying a king as cargo.

He slowly made his way over to the rail, taking hold of it, leaning out, staring into the expanse of water. His doubts were tenacious, but then, so was Nick. The fresh air made him feel slightly less frantic, but all the facts remained what they were. His lords were of dubious loyalty at best, he would have to be prepared to wrest any advantage he could from Guardiana, Ruce was dead, he had sent Gyan away, he was still unmarried, he might have to wrestle with Iom, and the Usurper haunted his sleep.

_I always did everything that was asked of me, dutifully, well… and yet Cypress chose my charming uncle. The justice of my cause meant nothing to them. Justice is not enough. It never was enough. Why did they follow you, Lord Max? _

The old wounds still bled and Nicholas still brooded. Nick could offer people clear, cold water and they would mutter of the strange taste, yet the Usurper may have well pissed in a cup and they would have called _that _wine. It angered him.

"Your Grace?"

The voice startled him more than it should have. It seemed wrong, somehow, for it to break in upon this night. This night was reserved for introspection. Despite Nick's dislike for sea travel, this darkness, this wind-swept constantly changing landscape, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The wine-dark waters were fast washing away his concerns, but Nick was a king and he would have to always be a king. Even now.

"Claude," he said calmly. "I did not expect to find you here. Is aught amiss?"

"I… no, Your Grace. I saw you and I was concerned."

Nick turned to face his loyal retainer. Truth be told, the way the winds were tugging at Claude's feathers made the birdman look utterly ridiculous, but Nick kept his features perfectly grave and composed. "A hot night," he said by way of explanation. "And by tomorrow we shall be in Iom. I merely wished to consider a few points in the open air." On a sudden impulse he asked, "You were with Ruce when he died, weren't you?"

"Yes." Claude's voice was very soft. "It was one of the bravest things I'd ever seen… had he not sacrificed himself…"

"Yes. He always was brave," Nick muttered. "Always a hero." _Not like me_. _No hero. No Ruce…_ Nick could never be a hero, kings weren't. He ought to know, his father had tried to be a hero and look at what it had done to Cypress. He had been dutiful to his father, but he knew now that Nicholas I had been disastrously weak. And Nick would never have been cut out to be a hero anyway, he made rational decisions. The sort that were right and would still be condemned as being too cold-blooded. If they were of logical necessity though… Nick was surprised at the touch of anger he felt at the prospect. But even beyond that, it was the feeling of Ruce that startled.

"I never meant for him to die," he realized. "I loved that man." He could feel a ridiculous urge to cry building up within him. That surprised him too. "Cypress has to get it right this time," he whispered.

"Of course." Claude sounded relieved. "I… I confess, Your Grace, there'd been some talk, back at the Castle. We've been worried, near all of us. You're taking on so much…"

Nick turned to look back at the swell of the waves, frowning. _You too?_ "I do my duties, Claude. You fought with us in the war of the Usurper, and you saw what it pleased the Usurper to call justice. You saw his idea of governance. If I needed any example to press me on, that would have been it."

It surprised Nick how desolate just talking about that war made him feel, especially after all this time. He kept his voice hard and expressionless, not quite aware that he was still speaking aloud. "I remember the way he glittered… He always did. Always. It was justice and yet… Justice is not immutable," he whispered. "I went to my knees before her. And before them. And still…"

"Your Grace?"

The birdman must have read some of the anger that was layering Nick's tone. He shook his head, reaching for his king's voice again. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

---

Mayfair was quite honestly surprised at how defensibly built Iom Castle was. Frowning, she asked, "Wasn't the real capital supposed to be a shrine built to Iom?"

"Not originally," Nick replied. "The people of Iom were not always very dutiful in their devotions to their god. Warderer changed that, but he kept the Iom Castle entirely intact. He just took to using it as a shrine."

"Ah." She looked around for several more moments, appreciating the clear skies and brisk wind. "Iom is much more hospitable looking than I would have expected. Even beautiful."

"Yes," said Nick. "I suppose so." He wasn't looking at her and his voice was distant. Evidently he was Nick the king for the moment. Mayfair wasn't certain whether or not that pleased her, as a healer. It was good to see that he was taking his duties seriously, but Nick always took his duties seriously. That in and of itself was more of the problem.

Still, she couldn't prevent herself from surreptitiously studying him. Despite his insensitivity, and his extreme dispassion, Mayfair considered Nick to be both her friend and her sovereign. She had gathered from the sailors that he had slept very little last night, and even Claude had intimated something of the sort to her.

Despite everything though, the punishing schedule that he kept to without exception and the lack of any real rest, Nick's step was still strong, his face still composed. The only external sign of his weariness were his eyes. Nothing could conceal the feeling in them.

Mayfair sighed, and then turned her gaze forward resolutely. There was nothing she could do for Nick anyway until he admitted his limits to himself. Besides, she was determined to enjoy this day for what it was, and she wasn't going to let Nick ruin it for her when he hadn't actually even done anything, let alone been offensive. Her step lightened as she considered how historic this moment truly was. Iom and Cypress had been enemies for centuries, and Warderer's ascension to power had only led to a more rabid hatred. He had carefully cultivated and stoked feelings of resentment against Cypress. And here they were, Cyprians who had sailed to Iom, who had stepped into the capital city, confidently, safely…

And the people that watched them smiled. Some waved or called out greetings, and most stared in undisguised awe. There were a few who appeared rather more apprehensive, but the public response was very encouraging. Warderer had been a brutal king of course; some people were bound to view anyone as an improvement.

She turned her gaze forward again, towards the intimidating Iom Castle. But even as she did so, her thoughts turned once again to the king. If she was honest with herself, Nick's proposal still disturbed her from time to time. Twice he had pressed her and the second time, his voice… That had been the only time that she had ever heard raw emotion break his vocal poise, and yet, and yet… Nick had not even alluded to such a suggestion since the day they had landed in Cypress. Only his eyes…

Mayfair chuckled slightly. Here she was, considering his words to a pointless standstill. Was that what he meant by this sudden, extremely courteous emotional silence? Did he simply mean to have her worry over it until she was ready to marry him? She certainly wouldn't put it past the king. If Nick wanted to marry her that badly, he'd consider it from all angles until he hit on whatever he considered most logical. And in some ways, that wasn't a bad strategy on his part. If she had ever been sure that he loved her, Mayfair would have married him on the spot. But all she had ever seen from Nick was the anger brought on by desire and refusal…

She shook her head pushing away the fruitless ruminations on Nick's motives. She was fulfilled as she was, anyway. As they came to a halt in front of the massive gates of Iom Castle, Mayfair unconsciously smoothed out her skirt. The gates swung open ponderously, but before they could even begin moving forward, a party of guards was riding out to meet them. Mayfair wondered what exactly that show was meant to prove.

---

Deanna had taken the time to dress, Nick noted. The young lord sat comfortably, one leg thrown casually across the other. "Your Grace," he said in a tone that was not quite cold, "forgive me if I do not rise. Would you care for some refreshment, perhaps?" He turned his gaze to Mayfair and added a somewhat warmer, "General."

"Thank you, but no." Nick took a seat. "Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, perhaps we could come to your reasons for threatening me." He wasn't in the mood for any of this, but he was king. He would have to do it perfectly. "Might we thank you for your impressive security, incidentally?"

Deanna's mouth quirked. "Indeed. You may have noted the mood of the people in the capital. I assure you, their goodwill is not shared all across Iom. To them, I am the mongrel who has sold Iom to the King of Cypress. The security was for your own protection. I've already suffered from multiple assassination attempts. In the future, Your Grace, I suggest that you step very lightly around Iom."

Nick paused at that, feeling appreciative despite himself. "Splendid. You're learning, Lord Deanna." He chuckled slightly, leaning forward. "Very deftly done, in truth. You say just enough in your letter to convince me to come here myself, and once I am… you point out that I'm dependant on your goodwill. Very well played. But in the meantime, shall we get to business?"

Deanna hesitated, glancing at General Mayfair. "Perhaps I… there are some things that I think should best remain between ourselves."

Nick arched an eyebrow, considering the proposal. On the one hand, it was useful to have Mayfair's eyes and her advice, but Nick already knew that he was capable of playing Deanna as needed. On the other hand, Nick also had to consider that, however unlikely the possibility, Deanna was trying to isolate him so that he'd be able to take, or at least assassinate Nick. But even if Deanna was contemplating such a move, taking Mayfair would be better, not worse for him. And, anyway, Nick was almost certain that he knew what Deanna was thinking of. "Agreed."

Mayfair's surprise registered as a brief flicker in her eyes, but she rose with quiet dignity, allowing Dawn to escort her out of the room along with the other two guards flanking the door. Nick watched her go from the corner of his eye, appreciative that she was so dutiful. It was a shame that he hadn't yet been able to convince her that that dutifulness could best be served as queen, but he hadn't given up there. Mayfair knew the logic of his proposal, additionally, while she had had some reason to consider him weak before, she now saw how he was restoring Cypress. He had no doubt that her misapprehension would soon be corrected.

He looked at his new-made Lord of Iom. "Before we begin, answer me just one question, my lord. What is it that you don't want my General to know?"

Deanna's mouth opened for a moment and then he said hoarsely, "You forced me to take this position. You threatened to destroy Iom, even though you must have known that would be to the detriment of Cypress. And you would have done it. That is both a secret I would prefer to keep and a tragedy."

Nick sat in absolute silence, more stung by that than he cared to admit. He had had no choice; Deanna needed to be forced into the position. And now the dark-haired lord of Iom saw fit to render judgment on that. Nick pressed his lips together, willing his instinctive anger away. Deanna was right, Nick would have done it. There was no point in making a threat that he wasn't prepared to carry out. But that had been justice too. It all flowed from justice.

He turned to Deanna, banishing all other non-contingent concerns from his mind. "Very well, Lord Deanna. We can negotiate in peace. I require you to bend the knee and swear Iom to my dominion." He saw no point in playing coy with Deanna; they both knew what the wanted and they both knew it was most advantageous to do so together. Doubtless Nick would have to accommodate one or two of Deanna's demands, but ultimately Cypress had more clout and Deanna was too tender-hearted to risk the possibility of another war. It was just a matter of who would blink first and Nick never blinked.

Deanna was studying his own hands. "There are two points you must satisfy for me first, Your Grace." Nick said nothing, for indeed, until Deanna made his demands, there was nothing to be said. The follow-up was not long in coming. "I demand leave to wed Natasha. Under ordinary circumstances, I understand that that would be none of your concern. I also understand that these circumstances are anything but ordinary. Additionally, you'll have to give me my brother."

Nick considered the admittedly modest terms for a few moments in silence. "An intriguing suggestion," he said at last. "Unfortunately, there are complications. If Hindel is dead, I'll see to it that his bones are delivered to you." He left the rest unsaid, whether or not he accommodated Deanna on that matter would depend largely on what condition Hindel was actually in. Nick wasn't too worried about Deanna's elder brother, but the man had held power under the old regime. Under Warderer. Given that past, given the fact that he had only allied himself with the Shining Force after Warderer himself had changed sides, Nick couldn't risk putting him in a position of authority in Iom.

Deanna said quietly, "That is not open to debate. You will give me my brother." The intensity in his voice might have made a lesser man pause, but Nick was not weak and he was unfazed. Nonetheless, the mere suggestion of intimidation angered him. Yes, it was a good political technique, but Nick despised it nonetheless.

_He thinks me weak. _

Deliberately moving away from that point, he asked, "And what precisely inspires you to suggest that you might wish to wed Natasha? What reason do you have for such a proposal?"

Deanna looked mildly surprised. "I love her," he said simply. "That's reason enough, Your Grace. Also, when I was at Castle Cypress, briefly, Yeesha intimated that you would be open to the suggestion."

Nick's jaw clenched. He had originally intended for Yeesha to wed Deanna, but if she was now playing games of power… He was the victim of ingratitude. It was deeply disappointing. "Love makes an uncertain ally at best," Nick said calmly. "Surely you have practical reasons as well."

Deanna stared at him. "Why would I? You're in love with General Mayfair."

"I…" Nick could feel his jaw working, his hands squeezing shut. "You've misinterpreted things." Love was a fallacy, a concept that had neither true existence nor any practical application. Nick recognized this. It was a weakness, a foolish waste of energy.

Deanna's lips twitched into something suspiciously resembling a smile. "Yes, of course. As to my… requests then?"

---

"Do you require anything, General?"

Mayfair looked up from the chair that she'd sunk into. "No, thank you Dawn." She smiled warmly. "I miss working with all of you, though. How are you?"

At that question a silence opened up between them. Dawn had always lacked the gift of easy courtesy, never more than when making casual conversation. And anyway, since the war had ended, she had found herself more and more disturbed. It was in so many things now, these poisonous self-doubts… "I… I'm busy."

Mayfair raised her eyebrows at the unconvincing pronouncement and the long pause that had preceded it. "I had heard something about that. Deanna made you commander of the guard, didn't he?"

Dawn studied the floor. She had almost admitted to her two great flaws; she still envied Deanna and Natasha, and even more disturbingly, those feelings had consistently grown stronger, and of course, she had killed Uglu after he yielded… Because of Deanna…

It had been because of Deanna. She still remembered that moment very well. She had seen him there, seen what he would do, and in answer she had done the opposite. She hadn't meant to kill Uglu. That had frightened her, and it still frightened her badly. Her throat tight, she said, "Yes."

"That was an honor," Mayfair remarked.

Dawn shook her head. "It was academic, really. I was nearly the only choice he had, unless he wanted to give the position to Eric."

"Oh yes. How are all the others settling down here? Eric and Luke, you and Natasha…"

Dawn began to relax a little as she chatted with the General. She had been expecting a culture shock in being transplanted to the court of Iom. She had not expected to like it, but she felt much more fulfilled in Iom than ever she had in Cypress. The grimness of the place appealed to her, it offered her an introspective quality that Castle Cypress never had. And even more than that, she appreciated the cautious nature of the people of Iom. Defense was very highly valued in Iom. Only Deanna had ruined it for her.

He hadn't meant to, of course, Dawn had never seen him do an intentionally unkind thing before. That just made it worse, though. As the Guard Commander, she also was responsible for guarding Deanna… guarding all of his secrets. He didn't have any horrible secrets either, from what Dawn had seen, although he was privately much more pragmatic than he was in public. He was very thoughtful, and somehow he remained able to stand on his principles. That had made it worse too.

"Dawn?"

She realized that she had lapsed back into a brooding silence. Clearing her throat painfully, the centaur started to rasp, "General, I… if you ki… I… suppose," she took a deep breath, "suppose in battle you were… swept together with fate and… and you…"

At that moment there came a loud thumping on the door and Dawn jerked up, opening it by habit. Sir Claude of Cypress hovered in the doorway. "My pardons," he said courteously. It was a habit of his. Claude was always courteous, though less well-spoken than some members of the court. "General Mayfair, the king requests your presence immediately."

Mayfair rose from her seat, a good-humored smile on her face. "Then I shall be right along," she promised the birdman. She turned back to Dawn for a brief moment, "Thank you. If I don't get a chance to see the others, please greet them for me." She swept along, out of the chair, out of the room, out of Dawn's life.

The centaur took a deep breath. Things were just a little confused at the moment. That was all. She still had her duties to do.

---

The king's eyes were glittering with something between excitement and anger, but he was still perfectly composed. "An urgent missive has just arrived from Castle Cypress," he declared after pressing her into a seat. "Lord Erryk Stire has chosen to defy me."

Mayfair frowned. "What exactly has he done?"

"Besides resisting all of my commands and doing his best to stir public opinion against me since I took the throne? He's defied my command to enact certain economic polices, the tariffs we were discussing two weeks ago, has closed his borders and gathered swords around his keep."

Mayfair's mouth hung open for a moment. "I think I need a drink," she said weakly.

Nick nodded. "Of course." He rose and quickly poured a cup of water, handing it to her and then sitting back down. Looking at him, Mayfair realized that for his coolness of speech, Nick was bustling with energy at this new problem.

"Lord Erryk has done us a great favor in truth," he resumed without pause. "My lords know that I am a strong warrior and they have seen the justice that I meted out to Bulldor. At this juncture, a rebel lord will be the only other example they shall require."

"You're taking the prospect of more war very calmly," she snapped.

"This isn't war. A single lord may be taken care of before he can gather a broader base of support. We return to Cypress immediately. Gyan should arrive with some forces, as well as the Lady Sarah. If we move swiftly, Lord Erryk will no longer be a problem and he will have overall strengthened our hold on Cypress." He paused for a moment glancing at the letter and making a mark on it. "In the meantime, I want you to write a letter to Yeesha. She must come to Iom immediately so as to be wed to Lord Deanna. As long as we do that_"

Mayfair cut him off. "What about Natasha? Wasn't that why we came here in the first place?"

"Yeesha is a better choice. And I made no vows to Lord Deanna as regards his marital status. He'll have to obey the will of Cypress, and if he's inclined to be recalcitrant, the fate of Lord Erryk shall give him pause."

"But… they love each other." She knew it was the wrong argument the moment the words left her mouth. Nicholas II was a fair king, but he was hard and brooked no weakness in his subjects. Nor did he believe in extenuating circumstances.

"All the more reason not to wed them. Natasha's influence will moderate Deanna's occasional excesses thus making a marriage superfluous. Besides," he added, giving her a hard look, "what's love got to do with it? They have duties to do, and yes I need them, but Cypress can have them while giving less than they ask. It is the duty that is important. And if you must know, this _is_ justice. For Yeesha at least. Additionally, I believe that given the current circumstances, it would be best for us to take immediate steps with the foreign policy agreements. Lord Deanna has drawn up a treaty that surrenders Iom to Cypress, but I want you to review it first, after writing that letter."

He took a breath and started to make some other point, but then he stopped. Mayfair didn't have to ask why; she could feel the tears rolling down her face. "Mayfair you… stop that." He sounded aggravated.

She couldn't, though. The tears kept coming, and she shook uncontrollably. Nick rose to his feet, looking incredibly tense. "Mayfair…" his voice shook. "Stop that. Stop that. Don't… don't cry." The anger in his tone was more surprising than the faintly entreating note to it. "Stop that," he snapped again. "Gods, it's just… it's policy, Mayfair. There are other reasons, I can explain…"

"Oh gods, Nick," she burst out, some of her own anger showing now. "It's not policy, it's you."

He took one small step back. "Me? What is that supposed to mean?"

Her sobs more under control now, she looked up at him with a watery gaze. In this moment, she felt a tremendous sympathy for her brittle king. He was strong, able, just… but he was a prisoner to his own logicality. "It's you," she repeated simply. "During the war you were almost human Nick, but now…" she could feel her eyes tearing up again. "Now that you've regained your throne… somewhere along the way you lost your soul."

He stood there, his shoulders clenched tightly, grinding his teeth, and he pointed his finger, his voice curiously tight, "That is an irrationality."

Mayfair rose at that point, turning away from the room. He didn't try to stop her. Just for the moment, they had nothing else to say to each other.

---

Nicholas II of Cypress sat calmly in his chair, but his countenance was black with anger as he stared out at the room. Mayfair had defied him too, mocked him, wrecked him… and she still presumed to judge him. His _soul_? Absurd! And now, she had directly challenged his cognitive ability, his morality, his basis of justice, the justice that he had claimed the throne in the name o! No, his mere 'soul' was not enough for Mayfair.

"Justice is not immutable," he muttered. "So she says. Weak, am I? Is that where she's taking this again?" Would Deanna have called this love? The thought was so ridiculous that even Nick had to chuckle at it.

Mayfair was only human and could, he supposed, be forgiven for the occasional moment of weakness. But then, Nick was not good at forgiving. As Lord Erryk Stire was soon to learn.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Now that the war had ended, Max sometimes considered that to be the point at which troubles began. His troubles, mostly, if he was honest with himself. Fighting Mishalea had been work; a rational agreement between men and women who all had something to lose to her. And now that she was dead, Max wondered more and more often if he had been right to do what he had, to have sacrificed what he had sacrificed and to have asked so many others to do the same.

_Hans, Tao… Musashi. _

That litany had rarely left him in the long straggling days that it was taking the armies of the Shining Force to march to their homes. It had cut him when other of his friends had died, of course, but it was the traitors that stayed with him above all others. He had loved them, all three of them, so much, trusted them, respected them…

_Aye_, he thought bitterly, _and I trusted His Grace of Alterone and Oddler… _

The reports of Hans's brutality were as infuriating and bewildering as they were painful. The dark heart that Tao had concealed for so long… and Musashi's murder of Hanzou… But Max refused to believe that it ended there. They had been good people, each one of them. Something had to have happened to push each one over the edge, something deadly, harsh, dark… _But if they had known of it, why not come to me? _ The pain that gripped him relentlessly suddenly grew so deep, so intense as to blot out everything else. _Why didn't they reach out to me? I would have done what I could… Hans, Tao, Musashi… _

"Max?" It was only on opening his eyes that Max realized that they had been squeezed shut. And it was only on seeing the concern on Lowe's face that he realized he must not have heard his friend the first time.

"What is it?" There was no point in trying to put a brave face on things; they were all in bad shape. And if he tried, Lowe would know that it was false. Though the healer was generally perceptive anyway, Max could never conceal anything from Lowe. And he hoped there would never be a day when he felt that he had to.

The healer sat down on the grass next to Max, the weariness in his bearing palpable. The stress was finally taking its toll on Lowe; his blue hair had touches of grey running through it now and his eyes…

"We've…" he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and finally said, "Gort. He's died."

"How," he asked immediately, shutting off the pain that those few desolate words stirred within him. It was the one gift he could perform for all of them, both as a friend and a commander. If he couldn't keep them from dying, he could at least take in the details of their deaths', absorb the essence of their passing. It hurt him, but it was what he had to do. He had killed every single one of them.

Lowe brushed a weary hand across his eyes, "Max, I don't think_"

"Tell me."

Lowe was silent for a moment, biting at his lip slightly. "You've grown quite imperious," he offered at last.

Max sighed heavily, struggling to find something to say to his friend that would encompass the enormity of why Max had to do as he had to do. Abruptly, one of the last things Kane had ever said to him came into his mind. It was a poor excuse for everything it would have to speak for, but perhaps it would be in terms that Lowe would understand.

"Listen, Lowe. I know that you know about killing, in this bloody country we all do. But that only speaks for one… one level. A shallow leap into the pool. I commanded them all, you didn't. You watched me, but you don't know how it feels, even if you do know about killing. In and of itself… this is a poor testament to them, I agree. But if I led them to this, then I owe it to them to look into their eyes, to ask if it was worth it. If I can't do that, then I'll have to settle for absorbing the essence of what led them to such an impasse. I have to be their whipping boy, nobody else can do it." He took a deep breath, his voice shaky. "Now tell me."

Lowe turned his gaze to the ground with a sullen twist of his shoulders. "Gort shouldn't have even emerged from that battle alive," he muttered. "Oddeye let him win; I'm near certain of it. As it was, he nearly tore Gort to pieces, and you saw that it was only luck that Gort survived that long at all. The backlash of egress hit him worse than most of the others too, he was already weakened." Lowe clenched his fist, now staring up at the sky. "And I did everything I could, used every trick of healing that I knew." His voice was very soft. "And I couldn't save him."

Max sat there silently, brooding over the old dwarf's passing for a moment. Painful though it was, perhaps it was for the best. Gort had been a broken man; the war had been the only thing to give him direction. In complete silence, Max sat in judgment, and finally bid Gort a farewell from his heart. He had loved that old dwarf. "How are the rest," he asked in a hard voice, holding his tears within.

"What rest," Lowe grumbled bad-temperedly. "You know as well as I that we lost quite a few in the attack. If you're asking about the wounded, then I suppose you must mean Warderer and Hindel."

"Then I take that they're both still quite alive."

"Yes. Hindel's horribly weak; his entire body suffered from the burning. He's still clinging to life, fiercely enough. Warderer… well, that damage he took in battle is mostly superficial. He's still dying, but that's a natural process."

Max didn't turn his head to look at Lowe. "Have you considered how much trouble we might avert if we just killed both of them now?"

"That question is beneath you. But yes, of course I have. This is Warderer we're talking about. It's difficult to stifle such thoughts. He did fight for us, however. Loyally. He did everything we asked."

Max sat there, hunching up more firmly than ever. "Very well. Leave me."

"Max," Lowe snapped, "you can't just sit here with a stony expression waiting for things to come to you. You've been neglecting your responsibilities… They didn't end with Mishalea's life."

"Have I," he asked, cocking an eye towards Lowe. "In that case, you're right to rebuke me." Still, Lowe's comments stirred yet another roiling response within him. _Mishalea…_ He could remember, the way she had seemed so lost, so confused, so… innocent, almost, in the moments before the life had been rent from her. It made him wonder about her, her loves, her hates, her past… Had he done the right thing?

He wearily rose to his feet, giving Lowe a curt nod. He did, he supposed, have duties after all. "Max," Lowe called out sternly. "This new fatalism doesn't become you. You're not Kane."

Max turned around slowly. "No," he agreed, "I'm not. I'll do what I can as best I can. That's all I can expect."

Lowe heaved an exasperated sigh. "That's just more of the same. Max, you have to get over whatever you're going through. I need you and the rest… we all need you. I know, the deaths' are hard to stomach, the treasons tie your insides into knots even now, but we did what we had to."

"Did we?" Max's voice was so soft, so quiet. "Did we really have to do all those things, Lowe? I know, I know intellectually, I know in my mind that Mishalea had to be fought, to be stopped, but in my heart…" He took a deep breath. "In my heart I still have to ask, what was it all for?"

Lowe's voice floated out of the deepening gloom. "Aye. And that's why you're the best of us. The world needs somebody who can feel these things in their heart, and still not waver. The world needs you, Max. And so do us. That… that's all."

Max paused a moment longer, and a reluctant, pained smile came to his face. "If you say so… mayhaps. It's been a long time since I've been foolish enough to doubt your perceptions." He turned and walked off into the evening.

---

The smell of the roasting meat made Musashi's mouth water. He strode up to the fire, eager, brisk, yet tired. "No one about," he reported as he sat, neatly tucking his legs in. He nodded towards the pork. "Looks like you had good hunting, Fool."

The armored man contemptuously shrugged his shoulders and spat. The noise was always the same when he moved, a dry, rustling, cracking sound. "Don't know why I bother to keep you," he muttered.

"Of course you do," Musashi returned calmly, even though he could feel anxiety building up within him. If Fool really decided to get rid of him, Musashi was by no means confident that he could fight him off. "Two is a safer number than one… safer than a large party also, in some respects. And anyway, we're companions now."

"Of course we are," Fool drawled sardonically. "And your own sense of ethics is so intact that that must mean something."

Musashi sat there silently, refusing to dignify that with a response. He doubted that he'd ever forget Hanzou, and it was true that there had been no honor in that killing. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to make justifications as to that to himself, so Fool would hardly get any either. "It's true," he conceded at last, "that I have a few regrets."

"Regrets," Fool snorted as he turned his attention back to the meat. Moving with speed and grace, he turned the spit off of the fire. He silently divided the meat into two equal portions and passed one over to Musashi. Then he lay back, concentrating on his own food for a good while.

After several minutes, he sighed, licking his fingers and finally turned his gaze to Musashi. "Well, then, fancy the life of a wanderer, samurai? If not, we part ways here." The subtle stress on the word 'here' spoke volumes for Fool's methods for parting ways.

Musashi seriously considered the proposition for several seconds. "Don't see why not," he answered at last. "There aren't really any other chances for me… and we're bound together by honor anyway."

Fool gave a great, snorting laugh at that. "Bloody honor," he growled. "Gods, I'm soft as a mother, damn me to hell."

Musashi stared at the distinct form of his quixotic companion for a long moment, wondering what lay beneath armor and mask. "Who are you, anyway, Fool?"

Fool laughed again, though there was no mirth in the noise. "I was a bloody fool just like you, and I loved my bloody honor too much. And now I'm just a fool. But keep this in mind," he propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows, "I like living. And I hate gutless cravens. You try anything and you'll be a corpse in the ground."

Musashi bowed his head. "Fair enough. I've no wish to pry… I too have horrors in my soul."

"Gods," grunted Fool. "You some kind of poet? If you're going to keep talking like that, I might reconsider and kill you anyway. Bloody metaphors."

Despite himself, Musashi felt a reluctant smile coming to his mouth at that quip. The tension that had been in the air had in some way smoothed out evened. "Well then," he said lightly, "where to?"

"Off of bloody Rune if we're lucky," muttered Fool, rising to his feet. "Not that we are. I'll take first watch."

---

Domingo had juggled so many different mood-swings in trying to come to terms with Anri that he now wasn't sure where he was at, with the war done, him alive and Gort dead. Much as the elderly dwarf had unnerved him, Domingo missed him now. Gort had seen what love had made of Domingo, and Gort had comforted him, in his way. And now that Gort was gone, for the first time, Domingo felt as though he'd been a friend.

He sighed disconsolately. He'd expected to die in the war, indeed even sought it there, near the end, but… _I was too scared to try hard. _ And scared he was. Too scared to keep on the way things were, too scared to risk something new, too scared to just give up on life.

He closed his eyes, searching for something, anything, to give him the courage to do something with his miserable existence. He wanted Anri. He always had. She was warm, caring, beautiful… The absurdity of his hopeless desire had long since ceased to amuse him and the irony of his existence no longer entertained him. It was also galling that, all things considered, he and Anri were friends. And he was too nervous, too awkward, too scared to just put an end to the situation. _I am so pathetic. _

"Domingo!"

Startled out of his increasingly dark reverie, the magical creature looked up. Lord Max was limping toward him, a grim expression on his face.

"Domingo, come walk with me, if you would be so good?"

Resisting the momentary urge to make a stupid quip as to his ability for walking, Domingo slowly came forward. Lord Max looked to be in need of a friend just at the moment, and with the mood Domingo was in, any company was better than his own.

They walked on in silence for a good few minutes, Domingo gazing at nothing in particular, Lord Max studying every face that they passed, surreptitiously glancing at every tent, every campfire. He seemed to be taking stock of something or other. Abruptly he ground to a halt, stroking his chin reflectively. "I want your opinion," he declared. "You've always been good with people, Domingo, what sort of mood are these forces in? Are new tensions taking the center-stage?"

Domingo opened his mouth fully five seconds before he knew what he wanted to say. Good with people? That was unlikely at best. His hesitation seemed to aggravate Lord Max, however.

"Dammit, Domingo," he burst out. "You can't just do this to all of us. To me. You're my friend and I refuse to see you so obviously falling apart."

"Obviously," he said, playing for enough time to compose a proper response, "falling apart?"

"Don't skirt around the issue like that." Max just shook his head, his face more tired than grim now. "You're my friend, Domingo, and I love you. I don't deserve this."

Domingo looked up at the night sky, wishing there was an easy, obvious answer to give Lord Max… and cringing away from the one that was there. Much as he wanted to move on, this disgusting irony with Anri was his private shame. His fall from grace. It startled him for a moment to realize that he felt that way about it, but even his shame, his fear, his pain… Those things were his and it was hard to give them up. He almost laughed at the absurd jealousy of it. It was only then that he realized that the silence was growing more strained by the second.

Max's shoulders slumped slightly. "Is it me? Is it just that you don't want to open up to me, Domingo?"

The magical jellyfish was horrified at the suggestion. "No! I…" he breathed out a huge puff of air, searching for a way to approach the issue. Finally he said, "Have you ever… well, have you been in a place you didn't want to be as much as you wanted to?"

"You mean, emotionally?"

Domingo hesitated for a bare second before nodding. Max stared at him for a moment, his expression incredulous. "Gods, you don't mean to say that… that Lowe was right?" He started laughing then. "Gods," he managed again, between bursts of merriment, "I am so sorry Domingo, but… that's just too… absurd."

Domingo stared back out at the night. "I wouldn't know what Lowe says about me behind my back," he said quietly. "But he's usually right about things. I think that's why I dislike him."

Max's breathing evened, his face grew apologetic. "Oh, I didn't mean that, Domingo. Even if it is… well even if it is, it's not as hopeless as all that. We all have these moments, and if you can still feel them under everything we suffered through, then you've discovered your true strength."

"That's rhetoric," Domingo snapped, somewhat peevishly.

Another voice, youthful but alert sounded behind the two of them. "Excuse me, but you are Lord Max, are you not?"

Max turned to face a young man, a plain-looking fellow in the livery of Guardiana. Assessing this at a glance he asked, "Am I to take this as the Queen's invitation, or…?"

The soldier smiled, extending a hand. "An honor sir. Lieutenant Zeffron." There was a moment of awkward silence as Max just stood there, before slowly putting his own hand out. "Lord Commander Jarl thought it best for you to be escorted to our counsels now, my lord."

"Really," said Max stepping off with the young lieutenant. "Jarl?" The surprise in his tone was evident. Domingo turned his gaze away from the rapidly retreating figures, back to his own mournful contemplations. So Lowe had figured it out. So what? Domingo supposed he was probably relatively transparent. If only he could turn his contemplations elsewhere, off of this track of madness… Still, maybe this really was for the best. Yes, perhaps things had turned out the way they should… If he could just leave, just… run away again.

---

As he entered the modestly sized-tent, three pairs of eyes fixed themselves on Max. Taking just a moment to acknowledge Anri's presence, for she was his queen after all, he asked, "And where are all the others? I can hardly be the last to arrive."

Jarl stepped forward, politely indicating a chair. "This is a counsel of Guardiana alone, my lord. None of our esteemed allies are called for."

Max raised his brows at that. Reasonable, yes, but if this was setting any sort of precedent… "In that case, where's Luke?"

"Lo…" Jarl's mouth twisted. "Sir Luke is performing a different duty."

"I see," Max lied. "Well, I'm honored that my presence was…" his gaze flitted from Jarl's courteous expression to Anri's guarded one to Mae's static one, wondering what exactly was going on behind each face, "requested."

Mae stepped forward, seemingly even more ill at ease than she usually was in the company of others. "We have sore need of your counsel, my lord." The slight relief in her tone spoke volumes of how uncomfortable she really was. Still, it wasn't hard to guess the cause; for Mae, seeing Jarl perform the duties of Lord Commander would be extremely disconcerting at best.

Max himself felt some of that same discomfort. Jarl was a good knight; chivalrous, brave, courteous, and he performed his duties well, sober, quiet, intelligent, loyal, obedient… All in all, a very solid appointment, though he lacked that flair, that brilliance that Varios had possessed. As the former apprentice of Varios, Max felt no little awkwardness at being face to face with a man whom he couldn't resist having some slight resentment for. It didn't help that he was so good at doing what he needed to do, either.

Attempting to ease the atmosphere, he leant back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. "Well you called, and here I am. What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

There was another moment of silence, then Anri began speaking in low, rapid tones. "Returning to Guardiana means that we shall have immediate concerns to handle. Whilst the Lord Regent has doubtless done his best to maintain a strong domestic policy, we shall have to take immediate steps to ease the burden of war. Additionally, there are the matters of our allies to be considered. My own coronation will be a fact, but most of our friends have no such clear leaders to turn to. We have been considering the possibilities."

Jarl, pacing about the tent, took up where the queen had left off. "Some cases are easier than others of course. Your friend, Zylo, is the lord of Bustoke, for example. The Lady Mae here," he nodded his head in her direction, "has informed us as to the disposition of Manarina. Pao is already spoken for, I believe. It's Alterone and Protectora that concern us."

Max frowned. "Regis was the last of his line?"

"Yes." Jarl looked faintly uncomfortable. "It is the belief of Guardiana that the only suitable choice to take the throne at this late juncture would be General Torl himself."

"'The belief of Guardiana,'" Max repeated. "But not the belief of Guardiana's Lord Commander, I take it?"

"I have my reservations, yes, but the queen feels that we have little recourse."

"No," Max mused aloud, "I don't suppose that we really do. The nobility of Alterone has mostly collaborated with Ward, and even if his actions weren't up for review, the high lords would hardly be averse to trying to take advantage of the situation." He shrugged, acutely conscious of the fact that Anri would not meet his eyes.

Mae took over the conversation. "We have discussed Protectora in no small detail as well, though we feel that that… is less clear. Still, there has been a proposed solution." Her voice was slightly doubtful, again speaking volumes as to her opinion.

"King Ramaladu had no heirs," murmured Jarl, "and nearly all of his competent advisors were slain in the war. The only one even slightly capable of righting the situation would be General Elliot, and none know whether he even lives… though in my estimation, his disappearance is only satisfactorily explained by his death. Even if the general lives, there's no way to find him, so that leaves us with another, rather… unorthodox solution."

The centaur sounded very uncomfortable, and Max suddenly realized why he had averted his eyes. "This concerns me, how?"

No one seemed willing to step into the breach until Jarl said heavily, "Your brother, Lord Max, was a powerful and respected lord of Protectora. Though Lord Kane is now deceased, my condolences for that loss, incidentally, he could have brought stability to the region."

Max stared, hearing where this was going. "No," he said disbelievingly. "You can't be… that is an obscene, suggestion."

Jarl coughed somewhat apologetically. "It is the only suggestion that we have, Lord Max. Lord Kane did leave behind true issue; none can say he did not. If your nephew would consent to be crowned, we may be able to head off a great deal of pain."

"But… this is an internal affair of Protectora's. Can't some noble or… or…" his voice trailed off.

"That possibility does exist," Jarl admitted, "but it is remote. Mishalea was very thorough in her unseen coup; all the most respected, most capable officials are already dead. The reports we've had of how Protectora has gotten on with this dearth of leadership are appalling to say the least. Ian is by no means a certain gambit, but he's very probably all the chance that Protectora has left."

Max slumped back in his chair, his head whirling. "You've been very busy," he said at last, his voice weak.

Anri stirred. "As queen of Guardiana, I took it to be my duty to attend to all of these concerns as best I could. Even now." The anger in her voice was plain, and Max again thought of Lowe's words.

His friend had been right; he had been shirking one set of duties in lieu of another. "I'm sorry, Anri," he offered. "I've just tried to do what's right."

"Your Grace," she corrected him coolly. "And say what you will, my lord, your nephew is our only option here."

"Protectora won't love us if we setup a foreigner as their king. It's their own decision." His voice was clearer this time, his objection measured.

"'Us?"' Anri raised one very thin eyebrow. "Or is it that they won't love you, my lord, is that it?"

"Do you think that I'm some bloody egotistical prick," he demanded, some of his own anger showing now. "I'm not insensitive, but I don't even know Protectora. Their feelings toward me are nothing to do with this." He sighed, making an effort to moderate his response. "Besides, they wouldn't love me particularly anyway. Brother or not, I was an invader to them. Even if I've inspired some, people don't love me."

Anri stood, her voice a breathy snap. "_Tao_ loved you."

He flinched, barely aware of the uncomfortable glance that was passing between Mae and Jarl. "Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Don't break my heart again, Anri."

"If your heart is broken, then you broke it yourself."

"Anri," he said, starting to rise, reaching out, "we've had our differences, but we can work past them. You're right, the duty matters more, we have things to discuss, decisions to ma…"

She stepped away from his outstretched hand. "Decisions have been made. You're not relevant to events you chose to ignore. We have very little to discuss."

"Anri," he started. He was begging her, he realized, but he didn't care.

She jerked away, "Forget the appellation again, and you will be disciplined," she snapped as she strode through the tent. That was the blow that nearly drove him to his knees.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Lord Max, might I ask you to walk with me?"

Max looked up dully, feeling Jarl's voice break into the maximally tense atmosphere. "Given the circumstances," he growled bad-temperedly, "I'd hardly think you just want to make my acquaintance."

The Lord Commander bowed his head politely. "I apologize if this is an inconvenient time, my lord, but we have some matters to discuss that truly cannot wait."

"Your business or the queen's?"

"Shall we say Guardiana's business," Jarl countered.

Max puffed out a sigh of defeat. "Don't let me stop you, Lord Commander." He saw Jarl's cheek twitch at that, but Max wasn't in the mood to be delicate. It was all he could do not to collapse after the way Anri had walked out on him.

The two strolled off under the moonlight in something resembling friendliness. Finally Max muttered, "I'm sorry if I was rude. I'm just in very poor shape, at the moment."

"Really," said Jarl dryly. "Well, that's amongst the things that I should like to discuss." The centaur said nothing more for a moment or so and then he abruptly began. "This is a little awkward for me, Lord Max, to ask these questions to a man that I both admire and feel some… dislike for. I assure you," he hastened to add, "my distaste is nothing personal, and is really less to do with you, than with… other things. But the fact of the matter is, there's bad blood between you and the queen. That may seem an understatement, but I'm attempting to be succinct." He lapsed into another brooding pause before continuing heavily, "Her Grace is clearly very angry with you and she isn't an easy woman to anger. I think I'll have to know why."

"Gods man," Max laughed despite himself, "that's something of a personal question, isn't it? But you've been frank, so very well, my list of offenses stretches back a bit, but she once… made some personal comments to me. I took them badly, though I still consider myself in the right, and a… breach developed from there. Then of cou… what is it?"

Jarl's expression had sharpened slightly. "Personal comments," he repeated blandly.

"There was nothing remotely romantic about it, if that's what you're asking."

"I see. That makes things a good deal easier."

"I won't entirely disagree," Max muttered, more to himself than to the Lord Commander. Despite his initial aversion, he was finding that he rather liked Jarl's laidback style and dry wit. "Anyway, I made a number of decisions which Her Grace took exception to. Warderer for one. What I did with Lemon being the other."

"Controversial decisions to be certain," Jarl murmured. "If it's any comfort, my lord, in the matter of Warderer I believe that you acted as you had to."

"Thanks," he muttered. He hesitated, not certain how to approach the one subject that _he_ was interested in.

In the meantime, Jarl had continued musing. "Of course, saving his life now is less clear-cut… though we can hardly just treat certain allies one way and others another."

"You campaigned with Luke in Rune, didn't you?"

"Yes. He coordinated the liberating strike on Alterone."

"Now that's interesting," Max muttered. "Ward claims to have done that. Well, never mind. I suppose… you knew Hans. His… treason."

"No."

Max raised an eyebrow at the simple monosyllable. "What do you mean?"

Jarl shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I do not believe that of Sir Hans. I knew him well enough, Lord Max, to call him friend. And I do not believe that Sir Hans would have done something like that. Despite the irrefutable evidence of his murder of Queen Koron, I think he was unjustly accused of sabotaging the battle." Jarl's voice remained free of inflexion. "Let me make one thing clear; Sir Hans was a complicated, flawed man, and he was bitter about numerous… slights. He was as loyal as any man, however. See how Sir Luke fairly radiates shame despite his great victories. Whatever it is, I don't believe that Sir Hans is guilty. And Sir Luke believes some of the blame must be attached to him."

Part of Max wanted to eagerly reach out and accept those words; to believe that Hans hadn't been such a traitor, to believe there were even mitigating factors to his regicide, but… "You are the only dissenting voice I've had on this matter. Even Luke seems to indicate Hans did it and they were friends."

"Lord Luke and Sir Hans drifted apart as the campaign progressed."

Max sighed, feeling very tired and a little sad. "Tell me, what is Luke up to anyway?"

"Surveying the army."

The two kept on walking in silence, Max mulling over everything Jarl had said, and indeed the evening as a whole. It was mildly amusing to see how quickly he was sinking back into his role as a leader, though he wasn't certain if he wanted to be one.

_Lowe was right. Fatalism doesn't suit me, yet at this juncture, it's the only defense I have left to defend my heart. If I didn't, Anri's anger would have killed me tonight._

He cleared his throat, searching for something to say, to escape his inner demons. "I'll… I'll speak to my nephew, Lord Commander."

Jarl smiled slightly. "Thank you, Lord Max. Mayhap we will work will together. We've made a start, at least." He offered his hand and Max shook it.

He stood there for a moment, watching the rapidly receding figure of Lord Commander Jarl. Grudgingly he almost liked that centaur, and anyway, Jarl was right. They would be working together and it seemed as though they could. He was not Varios, but he was something.

Max turned away, hoping to put the night behind him.

---

"Uncle," Ian rasped, feeling dreadfully weak and lightheaded, "I do believe this is the first visit you've paid me since we organized a way back to Guardiana. Truth to tell, I was starting to feel unloved."

"Don't say that. You sound like Warderer."

Ian gave a great rasping laugh. "There's no need to be insulting." He coughed. "Still, one is led to expect a little familial concern in these situations."

Max sighed, clutching the arms of his chair, studying Ian's face. The swordmaster supposed that he must look quite drawn and haggard these days. Then his uncle buried his face in his hands. When he finally looked up, his voice was quite clear. "Ian, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were this bad and I was worried about the ones who seemed likely to die…"

"Ah," Ian chuckled slightly, wincing at the dryness in his throat and the deep pain in his side. "I suppose… that Lowe didn't bother to tell you."

"He had his reasons." Uncle Max lapsed into silence, clearly struggling to find something to say. He finally managed a smile that looked more like a grimace, "I can see your articulation hasn't suffered."

Ian coughed again. "Actually, Uncle, I'm dying for a cup of water, if you wouldn't mind…"

Wordlessly Max turned to the sideboard where his hands busied themselves with cup and jug. In another few moments he turned back, handing Ian the cup. The swordmaster took a deep breath, breathing a little more easily as the cold, life-giving liquid soothed his parched throat.

Max asked quietly, "So, how bad is it?"

Ian took some time before answering, trying to shift to a slightly more comfortable position and ignoring the blazing pain in his side. Thankfully Uncle Max was patient with him.

When he was finally as comfortable as he could manage to be, Ian exhaled sharply. "Bad. In the battle, we were losing to the enemy, badly. They had some mage as general, and he was actually good. So I killed him, but it stretched my wound beyond its endurance." He took a calming sip of water before continuing. "Got a few other knocks too. Lowe says I'll probably be bent double. But, I'm still alive, eh?"

He struggled to keep the bitterness from his voice. He would be a cripple. A crippled swordmaster. Truly, that was a jape of the gods, and it was one Ian did not much appreciate.

Uncle Max leant over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ian… I'm sorry." His eyes were full of knowing sympathy, the clear knowledge that he could see what Ian had given up.

"Oh, I don't see why," Ian said, trying to maintain a lighthearted tone. "Death is so very final whereas life is so very full of possibilities. Why be bothered that the axe _hasn't_ fallen?"

"Because it falls in small ways as well," Max muttered, looking disconsolate and distant.

"You surprise me Uncle." He took another sip of water. "Becoming a bit fatalistic, are we?"

Surprisingly, Max flinched. His uncle rubbed his hands nervously together, his silence heavy and oppressive. Finally Max sighed, his face grim, his voice even heavier than the atmosphere. "I'm… well I can see that this isn't a good time. But if I don't say this now, you may not be given any choice later…" He sighed again and said, "Ian, Protectora needs a strong hand. Queen Anri thinks it should be yours."

Ian's breath sharpened, his pain increased. Coughing, he leant over, taking a good mouthful of the remaining water. He swirled it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "Me," he said in a flat voice. "And why does Queen Anri want me, exactly?"

Max looked mournful. "There's nobody qualified left in the kingdom, none with the ability or the respect. But to Protectora… you're the son of Kane. They'd accept you. You could head off so much damage if you…" His Uncle sounded as though he were trying to convince himself.

Ian leant back, his head sinking into his pillow, closing his eyes, breathing harshly. Shadows played across his vision, his head swimming with darkness. "Don't ask me to rule, Uncle."

"I don't want to ask you to. Not for me. I want you to make your own decision."

"Dammit," Ian said weakly. "Gold is heavy and _cold_ on the brow. I've no wish to wear a crown."

Max's answer was a long time coming. "I didn't like the idea either, but it makes sense. You're the only hope Protectora has."

Ian just lay there, silently, trying to make up his mind. A monumental decision. King Ian… now that would be something. Even if his life was over seeing that he was a cripple, as a king he could go somewhere with it. His own life… Blast it all, he didn't want the power either. He didn't want to feel obligated to help the people, he didn't want it… But what was he if he refused it? Lord Max's crippled nephew. A king could be crippled, but a swordmaster?

He heard as Max finally left the tent, his head still ringing with possibilities. After another moment, he sighed, turning over, trying to put aside his considerations for the moment. But even as sleep started to claim him, Ian's thoughts were black.

_Kane… that bastard Kane. _

---

Warderer's eyes snapped open as Max sank into a chair by the cot. The sorcerer looked older, lined, thin, ravaged… but his eyes were the same, curiously bright and powerful. "Lord Max," he husked. "I did not look to see you here. Does this mean you've decided to do something about the quality of the food they serve me in here?"

"I am thankful for your help against Mishalea," Max snapped. "That does not mean that I intend to suffer your japes. And don't take this visit to mean too much, Warderer. I'm merely doing my duty."

Warderer's mouth twisted. "You've made a mistake then, my lord. Wit is the last defense of a broken man."

Max leant forward, forcibly checking his distaste. He did not want to be here, talking to Warderer. He did not want to reluctantly appreciate Warderer's sense of humor. He didn't even want to slip back into his role… but it was the role that he had to adopt. And his interview with Ian had left a bad taste in his mouth. He hoped that, coming from him, the dilemma offered his nephew would hurt less…

_Presumption. My choices have killed thousands of people. _

"So," Warderer ventured into the silence, "what are you to do with me now?"

"That is yet to be determined." Max saw no reason not to be honest with Warderer. For better or for worse, they were bound together for the moment. He abruptly started to rise, seeing no true purpose to this meeting, but Warderer's tones stopped him again.

"You would be wise to kill me." As Max turned back around, Warderer cleared his throat, a small smile playing across his lips. "And… just."

"You fought at our side. None can say if we could have even won the battle without your aid."

"He didn't want to kill me either, you know." Max's gaze sharpened, but Warderer was already clarifying. "Ravel. He didn't actually want to kill me. Ravel would have been very happy if… well if things had gone back to the way they used to be."

"So might we all," Max admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I should be thankful that this Ravel had some honor in him."

"Honor," Warderer chuckled. "You're all such fools, running around with these notions. You think that your honor protects you, but all it does is make it hard for you to move. Do you know, somebody almost killed me while I was dying on the floor? Then you cast egress." He shook his head. "Isn't it delightfully wonderful to realize that you saddled yourself with this moral dilemma, Lord Max? Had you not cast the spell when you did… why I might be counted amongst the fallen."

Max's patience was through. "You still might," he said curtly, striding back out of the tent. He sighed almost as soon as he had passed through the portal. He was under too much emotional stress to handle as nebulous an issue as Warderer right now, but he had to. Lowe had been right to say that to him, and even Anri…

In a sudden violent burst of energy, he kicked at a rock in his path. It was a foolish gesture, a petty act of temper against circumstances he couldn't even control, but it did make him feel a little better.

Who did he think he was fooling, anyway? Every effort he'd made ended up in some kind of ashes. Even winning the war hadn't brought relief to him, he couldn't stop second-guessing himself.

Tao, Hans, and Musashi had each one broken his heart, Domingo was palpably suffering, and Gort was dead. And he was bound to Anri, both because she was his queen and his friend, and yet… _What choice do I have? I cannot steel my heart, but what choice do I have but to try?_

---

The sun was high in the sky; the air itself seemed to be sweating. Still, Alf trudged steadily onward. The heat was daunting, but Alf wasn't ready to stop. He hadn't gotten where he was going yet, though he didn't know where that would be, truth be told.

_At the very least, you could have gotten a better reward than this,_ Pazort mentally complained.

"Bugger off," Alf said absently. It was too hot to waste energy arguing with Pazort just at the moment; ordinarily it was one of Alf's favorite pastimes. And anyway, even without the heat, he wasn't so much in the mood for such a conversation this day. It was nearly perfect, and he wanted it to stay that way.

Pazort was still grumbling, however. _You should have been made lord anyway, not Rodrik. You let him kill them. _

"No," muttered Alf. "Not a lord. Never a lord." He did not want to be a lord even though it doubtless meant that trash like that Ward would look at him with the proper respect. The mere idea of being a lord was painful, it reminded him of royalty. And the mere thought of royalty was enough to make his chest clench and his breath short and his head ache, though he didn't know why. It was just intensely painful.

For that matter, a lot of things had changed for Alf over the past several months. He no longer looked at women with desire, to name one. Indeed, the bitches filled him up with loathing and hatred just on sight. He didn't know how that had happened either, and quite frankly, he didn't give a damn.

Pazort had grown silent, and when the apparition finally ventured to speak again, his tones seemed much more moderated. _Where to now? _

Alf kept his gaze locked straight ahead. "Parmecia."

---

Mae beckoned Kisaragi a bit closer, hiding her discomfort as best she could. She did not like handling people, but it was a necessary component of her duties. And this, at least, was not an ordinary conversation. And this interrogation was her duty anyway, she had spared Kisaragi. The woman had become her responsibility to resolve.

"Ruburan knew who you were," Mae began without preamble. "That requires some explanation."

Kisaragi's lips twisted. "That… well, I suppose you were bound to ask sooner or later. It was personal."

"Generally speaking, knowing someone is personal."

Kisaragi's eyebrows shot up. "Why Mae, was that humor?"

Mae merely fixed the woman with a cold stare, knowing full well that silence could be more effective than remonstrance or insistence.

Kisaragi grimaced. "This will go no further?"

"…I'll be the judge of that."

Kisaragi was silent for a good long while after that. Finally she made a vaguely self-conscious shrug, rising to her feet and pacing. Mae couldn't help envying the unconscious grace of Kisaragi's movements.

"Ruburan was… Ruburan was my father. He warred with Dava in the past, and in some way or other, she got her hands on me, cast some spell on my senses, I suppose. I only realized when I saw him again, and by then, the instinct to make a quick kill…"

Mae sat there in stony silence herself. Her father… Mae knew what it was to feel guilt at the death of a father, but to have wielded the blade that spilled his lifeblood… She changed the subject tonelessly. "As an enemy leader of some sort, you can perhaps inform of us as to your evaluation of the battle."

Kisaragi's eyebrows rose again, but she allowed Mae to control the conversation. "I take it that you're not satisfied you smashed all of the troublemakers? Well, given the scale of the assault, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them did win through. Geshp was part of the army that attacked your division, and I didn't see him at all by the time you had subdued your foes. He could have escaped."

Mae pondered the prospect for a moment, and then nodded grudgingly. "Meaning that he probably did," she pronounced. "Are there any other insights you can offer us?"

"You'll have had reports of the people confirmed dead or not. There was any number of potentially dangerous adversaries that I couldn't swear dead or alive. I simply didn't see them."

"Yes. Well. That is all."

Kisaragi nodded to her and strolled calmly away, stopping only briefly to turn back and add, "Thank you."

Mae sat there in absolute silence, stung by the gratitude. She had never known how to accept gratitude gracefully or at all. It had always seemed an awkward occurrence to Mae. How was one really able to respond to something as… artificial as that? In this case, there was the added complication that Kisaragi was evidently taking it for granted that Mae would honor her confidence.

_Well, she's probably right. As long as I know, one of us can see any bearing it might have on the future, not that it's bound to have much of one. _

For Mae, it was the future that she had latched onto. She spent too much time in the past anyway, and she had never been comfortable in the present. The present only contained her insecurities. The future offered more peaceful contemplation of her duties. It was a form of escape, perhaps, but if so, then at least it was a productive one.

Even now, Queen Anri would be weighing the pros and cons of the options facing Guardiana and the rest of Rune against this new backdrop of peace. On those important issues, the matter of any remaining soldiers of Mishalea that were discovered, Warderer, Kalvar, the Lord Regent, Mae had already offered her recommendations.

Fortunately, despite the devastations of war, Guardiana's future hardly looked too bleak at the moment. The first years would be difficult, given all of the resources that had been spent battling Mishalea to a bloody end, but with shrewd decisions, Guardiana could swiftly reestablish herself.

No, it wasn't Guardiana's immediate survival that was at stake, but the quality of that survival. And the quality of justice. It was the moral questions that plagued them all now, how much to expect from those who had already sacrificed, what to do with Warderer, their disposition towards General Cameela…

_Cameela._ A twinge of sympathy ate at Mae's heart. The general had been an honorable foe, a valiant enemy, and yet… Mae stifled the regret. She couldn't have counseled Anri in any other way in the matter of Warderer, and if Warderer lost his head, so to would Cameela. It was of no matter either way.

It was just that Mae didn't understand how Guardiana was to continue as though the war had not ravaged them all. That was what they were all trying to do, in their ways. But how was it possible to do such a thing? The war… _defined_ them. It defined all of them. There was no way to move against that.

Slowly, Mae rose. Her thoughts were bleak again, and she didn't want to keep to them. Perhaps the queen would have need of her. Padding softly out of the tent, she immediately encountered Lord Max.

He was sitting, crouched up, the lines of his face deeply cast, his expression sorrowful. "Mae," he said, making no move to rise.

She stared at him for a moment, feeling her heart pound at this sudden proximity. He was tense, his face was drawn, his voice hoarse, his imperfections obvious… but no one would ever take him for an ordinary man. Her throat felt unbearably tight. "My lord." Her voice was the same though. Always the same…

He turned to look at her, and she was surprised to see the tears in his eyes. "Dammit, Mae," he said, awkwardly, his voice rough and emotional. "I… I know that I haven't been treating anyone very well the last few days, but… do you have to adopt that air with me too?"

"I… what? I'm sorry." _I'm always sorry_, she thought_, always so selfishly sorry…_

"No, dammit, it's not that, it's just…" He turned his gaze away again. "I just feel like I've been here all day. The darkness… we made the darkness fall, Mae, we saw it go down, and it just left us here, in the same spot. Except not the same. The darkness might have fallen before our very eyes, but it stained us. We're shadows now." His voice broke. "Let me tell you a secret, Mae. I'm just left here feeling… empty. My soul feels dry, so very dry. There's no sorrow left there, only steel. Because we're left at where we were… But my wounds still don't heal; they still bleed at provocation… I still care. My heart still breaks, but my soul is steel and I…" His voice trailed off then.

"I… understand," she said, her throat still feeling painful.

Max laughed, though the sound was more bitter than anything else. "Ah, Mae, why are you always right? At least you're always here… it's enough to calm things, always has been. You make me feel more… logical."

_Enough,_ she thought hollowly. _Always enough for you, but I killed Tao… And it isn't enough either. I love you. I've always loved you. That wasn't enough. _The mere thought made her feel remarkably cold, despite the warmth of the day.

"Aye," she finally said into the silence, not knowing what else to say.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Nick liked the way his titles sounded as the herald cried out, "King Nicholas of Cypress, the Second of his Name, Lord Protector of the Realm!" And the trappings of power, the austerely furnished throne room, he liked that too. Truly, being king did have its comforts. Though that fact was irrelevant to be sure. It was the justice that was important. It all flowed from justice.

He was rather less pleased with his petitioner; the Lady Aela strode confidently down the path leading to the throne, her eyes fixed piercingly on him. Still, Nick had no true reason to refuse her right to hospitality at Castle Cypress

"Lady Aela," he said by way of greeting, carefully keeping the same stress on each syllable. "We had not looked to receive you for another fortnight."

She shrugged her graceful shoulders, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I made very good traveling time, Your Grace."

"Not with _that_ wardrobe," Yeesha called out lightly. There was a round of general laughter at the witticism led by none other than Lady Aela herself. Slowly, however, the room grew quiet as the assorted lords and ladies and guards noted Nick's silence. The mockery was of no matter, irksome though it was. Nonetheless, his tone was a shade icier as he continued.

"You find us ill-prepared for hospitality, my lady. In these troubled times I find that it best serves Cypress to keep to frugality, when so many still go hungry. The realm cannot bear the cost of extended frivolities." His desire to move on with this meeting notwithstanding, and his distaste for japery quite put aside, Yeesha did have a point. It was absurd to think of Lady Aela traveling in the dress that she was now wearing as it was both revealing and impractical.

_But that is for my benefit, no doubt._ As king, the show that all people put on was for his benefit. It was his duty to look through such things and see beyond what his subjects wanted him to see, and, fortunately, Nick was very good at that. Men and women alike found his cold stare very unsettling, and he used that to good effect. The Lady Aela, however, showed no signs of being daunted.

"I have no doubt that whatever accommodations Your Grace offers shall humble me." She curtsied, managing to give him a good look at the top of her breasts. "Do I have your leave to retire for the nonce, Your Grace?"

_She is good at this. _"Of course, my lady." He put a note of finality into his voice as he uttered the courtesy, and for the first time he was rewarded by a flicker of uncertainty in her bearing. _Ah yes, you expected me to offer you something, didn't you, snake? Yet you did not ask. Take a lesson from this if you can. _

For the brief flicker in her eyes, Aela made as graceful an exit as she had an entrance. Nick stood. "This is session is at a close," he informed the attendants. "Tell any who wish to see me that they must return on the morrow. And tell me the moment Lady Sarah arrives." He did not wait for confirmation, but merely strode to his back room, signaling Lord Commander Randolph to follow.

Lady Sarah would be the last to arrive. Gyan had come two days before and Cray had sent a nominal force as well to represent the honor of the south. Even Shade had finally written him; the situation in the north looked to be as bad as it could be, but that was not a matter Nick had the time to deal with just yet. Once Lady Sarah brought her power, he would have to take the field against Lord Erryk's defiance. Confident though he was of victory, he could not risk allowing Erryk Stire the chance to rally more rebels to his banners. _I will suffer no more usurpers and my lords shall know of it_.

On top of the defiance, however, there was still Iom to be considered. Lord Erryk's fate would doubtless give Deanna pause; the young lord of Iom was nothing if not prudent. Nonetheless, he had dared to challenge Nick and that meant he must have some sort of advantage. Should Lord Deanna prove to be in the slightest way recalcitrant… It did not bear thinking of. And even beyond that, he had the other nations of the world to consider. Lord Max's forces would not be much longer in reaching Guardiana, and Nick intended to have a treaty in hand not an hour after Queen Anri took her throne.

He doubted that his allies would try to take much advantage over him; they were still grateful for the role he'd played in the fall of Mishalea. Nonetheless, they were used to having the power, and in that Nick could see an advantage. Above all, Guardiana needed strong alliances right now so that they had the time to rebuild. They wouldn't be inclined to look too closely at any offered friendship before accepting it. And he needed to reach accommodation with Lord Xotho of Pao before Guardiana could try to bring its weight to bear in that matter.

_And never forget the devastation of Cypress…_ The collapsed economy was a serious concern. And his own court. It was not fully cleansed of his foes, he was certain. And even of his friends… The anger coiled but briefly. _It is of no matter. Yeesha shall learn the cost of betraying me. _

He seated himself at the small table, his eyes hard, as well they might be. If only he had more _time_… Still, he was king and his opening sally, his first attack; it must be so precise, so brutal, so neat... He began. "We are all gathered save the Lady Sarah. Whilst we cannot commence any great strategy planning in her absence, there are other matters that we may cover and that therefore we must. And some cursory discussion of tactics will doubtless prove useful."

Gyan, having waited for him there, and evidently having helped himself to some wine, lifted his gaze from the table. "As to that, Your Grace, Lord Erryk shall be a difficult foe no matter how we come at him. His keep is strong and hard to take, easy to hold. He is a veteran of many battles as well. When the Freedom Fighters took his fort before, I spread my troops out to keep him off balance and drew the rest back to smash him on the eastern side, like a great mailed fist. It is the most vulnerable part of the keep, but he is not like to be taken that way again."

That was certainly the most troubling of Nick's immediate concerns. "It is true that there are no easy ways to win outright battle with Lord Erryk, but it must be done."

Mayfair did not look at him as she offered, "A siege could well be the best solution, Your Grace. The fewest lives would be at risk, and it could be easily done."

Nick had already considered that possibility and rejected it, but despite his duties, he could not help being momentarily distracted by the distinct coolness of her tone. Since the return voyage from Iom, Mayfair had been entirely cold to him, whereas before she had been open. He considered such emotional responses to be foolish, yes, misguided and weak, nonetheless, her response irked him. For though she was entirely dutiful,—and she was, which was the most important of all—she meant this coolness to be a negative response, no doubt. _She means to rebuke her king._ That was what so angered him about it, dutiful though she was. She meant to rebuke him. Insolence.

"A siege is tactically sound, but indecisive in appearance. We must strike a blow strong enough to give pause to any others who harbor treason in their hearts."

Gyan cleared his throat loudly. "Mind if I take some wine, Your Grace? No?" He rose, moving to the sideboard and busying himself with glass and decanter. He continued over his shoulder, "I agree with General Mayfair's assessment. A siege seems the wisest course. Lord Erryk cannot hold out forever, nor will unnecessary blood be shed in such a venture."

"I said no," Nick replied with a degree of annoyance in his tone. "A siege will have an adverse effect in convincing certain of our foes of our strength."

"'Certain of our foes,"' Mayfair repeated in a strained voice. "Your Grace, these are your people that you speak of. Not your… foes."

"These are the lords who betrayed me to the Usurper," Nick responded. "To a scion of Warderer's. They shall seek every opportunity to plant a dagger in my back. They must needs be forestalled and Lord Erryk's fate shall give them pause." There was a heavy silence for a moment, and the Gyan stumped back over to his seat, throwing himself down unceremoniously.

"Uglu and Edmond are two entirely different cases," he growled, tossing back his drink and setting three other full glasses on the table.

"Peripherally perhaps," Nick snapped, "but in the essentials this is all beside the point. A siege has too many drawbacks, but the other points to be considered are not… as numerous as they could be. It is unfortunate." At that there was another long silence. Nick sat there feeling all the more irritable as he waited for his advisors to resume. After another moment or so, he realized that they were not going to speak.

Mastering the anger that such insolence roused in him, he continued, "Additionally I had considered inviting Lord Erryk to Castle Cypress so as to… discuss his grievances. Once here of course, there would be no question of his fate."

Mayfair stirred, but she still said nothing. Unhappily she picked up the glass that Gyan had filled for her as well and took a sip. Nick glared at her across the table, disgusted by this open display of her displeasure. Mayfair had drawn him, mocked him, wrecked him, _refused_ him and she still saw fit to render judgment on him. He, her king, she thought to judge her king. His anger started to shift almost immediately, however. Furious though she made him, Nick was possessed of a reasonable nature after all. _She has done me an injustice yes, but she does her duty,_ he reminded himself. _She is just… weak in some things. Not an uncommon flaw. _

"'Had considered,"' he repeated into the silence. "And I have rejected such a course; Lord Stire is anything but stupid. He would never walk into my presence willingly." Nick left unsaid the rest of it; Erryk Stire doubtless knew of Nick's reputation for true justice. He would not be taken in.

Mayfair sighed and shifted again, putting her glass back down on the table. She was clearly still discomfited, and Nick found the distress on her face to be nothing less than aggravating. "I am open to suggestions," he said not bothering to keep the snap out of his tone. He was fast losing patience with these two.

"Aye," Gyan said, rising. "And you have one. A siege is my counsel, Your Grace."

Beneath the polished mahogany table, Nick's hands curled into fists. "I shall… reevaluate my findings on that matter." Silence fell yet again. "The matter of Lord Erryk being closed, there are still other things to be discussed. The treaty with Pao is of paramount importance, but there are also things if any of you have specific thoughts on such matters. Our foreign policy, however, is most fragile at the moment and seeing that this is the case…"

Lord Commander Randolph coughed discreetly at his side. "As to that, Your Grace, I have an escort prepared for that little task that you set to me."

"Very good," Nick said. "Incidentally, Randolph, I need you to go meet Lord Orr for me. He requested a meeting, intimating that he had some knowledge of security. I trust you shall be able to handle it?"

Randolph frowned, but he rose. "Certainly, Your Grace. As you say." The centaur started to pad off towards the door, when he paused. "Might I bring Lord Warden Gyan with me, perchance? I have matters to discuss with him."

It was a not a carefully studied request, nor had Randolph asked it in such a way as to inspire willingness in Nick. Nonetheless, it was only a small insult and Nick was relatively certain that it had been an unconscious one. One day soon, he would take the liberty to correct the misapprehension, but as for now… "Indeed."

Randolph nodded tightly and went on out. Gyan took a moment rising to his feet, throwing a doubtful glance at Nick, but he too said nothing. Nick silently forgave the insolence as he waited for his old friend to exit the room.

The tension noticeably increased, but Nick was careful to seem to pay it no mind. He picked up the glass that Gyan had left for him, taking a small sip. An indifferent vintage in truth, but in such hard times he was fortunate to have wine at all. And that was just. It all flowed from justice. "General," he said, turning his stare to Mayfair's face. She held his gaze for a moment before turning her eyes back down to the table.

The display of weakness did not much surprise Nick, though it did disappoint him. Still, Mayfair doubtless keenly felt the embarrassment of having performed so badly before him. He forgave that too.

Her mouth opened. "Ni… Your Grace."

"You may still call me Nick if you wish," he told her.

Mayfair glanced up, looking genuinely surprised. "I'd not expect that," she said frankly. "You give a great deal of consideration for proper respect."

"In public, the honor of the throne must be kept, naturally," he returned. "In these troubled times, it is all the people have to cling to. Between the two of us or some of my other intimates, if it makes you feel more comfortable to use this other means of address, do so." Looking at her now, he was finding it hard to stay angry at her. Oh, her insolence displeased him still, but just now… he felt rather sorrier for her than anything else. Her blindness to the demands of justice was willful, yes, but it was only because justice could be a harsh taskmaster. It was weak… but he still pitied her. That was an irrational response on his part though, so he immediately set about modulating it.

"I see." She looked downcast. "That's very… logical, Nick."

He raised a brow at the slight pause but let it go without comment. Although it did occasion some curiosity on his part, he must admit. What was she trying to imply? "I want you lead the diplomatic mission to Pao."

She didn't look very surprised. "Are you certain it would not be more advantageous for Cypress to see its general performing military exploits?"

"I answered that for you before we left for Iom," he said sternly. "There is a difference between a leader who dictates and a leader who fights. You serve me best in this other capacity."

She smiled faintly. "I agree. Apparently Randolph already has the escort ready… that is what he was referring too, yes?" She waited long enough for him to nod before asking, "When do I leave?"

"After Lady Sarah arrives. I want to be prepared to handle Lord Stire before you sail. You've already drawn up the treaty as I asked?"

"Yes. Although I thought you originally meant Lord Orr to take on these negotiations."

"Originally, yes. Lord Orr serves me best in other ways, however." It was quite simple really. Lord Kashing had spent many years in Rune on the behest of King Gadis, but nonetheless, he was only modestly powerful despite the favor that Nick's grandfather had shown him. And despite being a skilled negotiator, Lord Xotho would most like take Lord Kashing to be a man who could only carry messages back and forth. No, better to allow Mayfair a presence of a sort. Lord Kashing's abilities were many after all, so doubtless Nick could find an equally good use for the centaur in Cypress.

_His relative lack of power is a point as well. Kashing has been commendably loyal. I shall have to look into that. _

"I see," she said in a tone that implied she did not. She shook her head reprovingly at him. "At any other time, I'd think that Pao would refuse such a restrictive treaty. Given their devastation, however…"

"We can ask for more," he agreed. "It's too valuable a chance to pass up. Lord Xotho is the only leader in all of Rune who is possibly not dominated by Guardiana as well. We must have this treaty with him before Queen Anri offers him an alternative."

Her lips twitched slightly. "If this wasn't for the good of Cypress I'd call it immoral. It's certainly disingenuous."

He snorted in audible scorn. "Xotho managed to wrest a strong position out of defeat. If he's good enough to do that, he knows how the game is played and he'll be fully aware that it's disingenuous. And he'll know that he doesn't have time to see what Guardiana might offer… especially when he can't even be certain that their offer will be any more to his liking."

"You underestimate that possibility," she said sharply. "Lord Max would not try to take advantage of Pao, even if pressured by Queen Anri. Xotho has to know it. All of Rune knows Max's disposition."

Nick's jaw clenched. _Max. It always comes back to bloody Max. Why did they follow you? What did you have? You believed in justice too, and yet they followed you. Aye and Edmond. What do I ha…? It is of no matter. _

"Guardiana has troubles of its own to sort out," he reminded her. "They won't be ready with an offer for some time and Xotho also knows that. He'll have no choice but to bargain with us. And I mean to offer him generous terms; you know that, you've seen what I'm willing to offer should he perforce ask."

"Very well." Her face stilled, mouth tensed. "In that case… I wish to reopen the discussion about our disposition towards Iom."

His fists clenched beneath the table and his teeth ground. For just a moment the black rage enveloped him again, she had _dared_… "If you are feeling prepared to discuss the policy in greater detail as I first offered to do, then of course, that offer stands," he replied coldly.

"Nick, this isn't a question of policy. It's one of character." The look she gave him was very direct. "Deanna wants to marry Natasha and there's no earthly political reason to deny such a link. _And_ there's no gain in antagonizing a faithful lord of your most instable region!"

He gripped the table tightly. "Are you accusing me of blindness or stupidity?"

"I don't know what I'm accusing you of," she retorted, "since you refuse to offer any reason for the decision. Barely even a rationalization."

His nostrils flared, but, with effort he kept his king's voice. _Stone. I must be stone. _"You know me for a just man. I assure you, I am not needlessly antagonizing Lord Deanna. I am making decisions of a… political necessity. Indeed, I intend to give him his brother, dead or alive, as he asked of me, as a token of my goodwill. Yeesha must needs wed Lord Deanna."

Mayfair didn't bother to conceal the contempt in her voice. "You say 'political necessity' but you don't justify it in the slightest. Deanna and Natasha love each other. Don't you want to be like that as well?"

He stared at her. "Not at all. That would be a… weakness."

For a moment something close to consternation flashed across her face, but her words were far from uncertain. "Don't be absurd, Nick. If anything love is strength, not weakness."

"Mayfair, you're not a stupid woman, and this isn't hard to understand. Love… love is the death of honor, of duty, loyalty, reason..." He might have gone on, might have said more, but his vision choked him up again. He could see it so clearly… Cypress could rise above itself. But emotionalisms had to be left in the past where they belonged.

"No it isn't. You're ranting, Nick."

"Mayfair…" he could feel the dream slipping away from him. "We can rise above it all. We're strong enough. We, you, I, even all of Cypress… we can rise above it _all_. Love is not necessary, it's dangerous. We can be better than love." Unwelcome passion was creeping into his voice. "We _have _to be better than love!"

He sighed, seeing the skepticism on her face. "Let me explain, this time." He was silent again, searching for an answer that would satisfy this most unusual request. Though of course, Mayfair had made it once before… _Well, and what of it? Empathy, misguided or not, is central to her nature. If she must needs ask, then an answer must needs serve._ "The practical application of love… it does not serve, Mayfair. It's a thoroughly dangerous position, inspiring irrational decisions. If one was in love, devoted to any single person beyond the threshold of reason… you can see the danger in that."

"Only if that someone was completely emotionally unreasonable, Nick," she snapped. "You're dodging the question, with vague assertions about the weakness of love. It's not weakness."

"It is," he insisted, averting his gaze from hers. "It disrupts logical thought and rational planning. And Lord Deanna is not a stupid man; he will be able to get over whatever sentimental attachments he may hold."

"'Get over?"' Her echoing of the phrase was incredulous. "Love isn't something to be gotten over! It's not a sickness."

"Mayfair! I have the realm to serve, all of the people in the realm. I am responsible for everything; I have to be able to serve everybody all the time. I have to make those decisions. Against this, what is the happiness of two, three at the most, people? What is their happiness against the good of the entire realm?" He shook his head, bemused by the extreme simplicity of her question. "Love is irrelevant and dangerous besides. It is the duty that is important."

She stared straight back, looking very intently at him. He leant back in his chair feeling somewhat flustered, though why he could not say. "Everything," she said softly. His jaw clenched at the belated answer to his question, but he did not respond. "That's very dutiful of you," she continued at last. "Very… profound. And utterly empty." She stood up. "In that case, it is my duty to inform you that Lord Deanna is sailing to Castle Cypress. And before you ask, no, it was not at my suggestion."

The rage choked him again. "Thank you," he said with all the grace he could manage. She took it for dismissal, moving towards the door. As she stepped through it, Nick started again, feeling tight in his throat, "Mayfair, you mus…" He clenched his jaw tighter than ever. She would be made to see, she had to understand! He would _make_ her understand. Mayfair was not a stupid woman; she would see the justice of his decision, the logic, the necessity… She had to. She simply had to.

_It all flows from justice;_ he thought desperately, _she will see that. She knows that._ But, as if in answer, her voice came floating back to him, _justice is not immutable… justice is not immutable…_ He clenched the table as hard as he ever had. She had to see.

He sat there for what seemed a long time, brooding on the injustice and ingratitude of nearly everyone he'd ever known, when he heard the fawning, obsequious tones.

"Alexandros brings you greetings, Your Grace. Many wonderful tidings are to be had of Alexandros."

Nick turned sharply, glaring at the fat scoundrel. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to have the man run off; this was not the time for open petitions, nor did the pirate have a scheduled meeting with the king. Nonetheless, a king must be impartial, and he did not have an immediate pressing demand on the next five minutes or so.

Alexandros evidently took the lengthy silence for encouragement. He leant forward, smiling widely. "There are many whisperings of King Nicholas's troubles in attacking the traitor lord, oh yes. Alexandros hears all the whisperings." His smile widened even further. "And Alexandros knows the way it can be done."

Nick's pale eyes held the pirate's cheerful ones for several moments as he considered the proposal. Alexandros was dishonorable and dishonest and Nick quite honestly disliked him, yet after his interview with Mayfair… and even Gyan…

He studied Alexandros one moment longer. "Tell me."

---

"Gods," muttered Lowe as he sat down, "I do miss Gort." The healer had slipped away from the main crowd as soon as he could, though it hadn't been easy. The masses of Guardiana had been nearly delirious with joy at the triumphal return of their Queen. As for now though… Lowe had no immediate duties to attend to. None would immediately ask for him in council. For the first time in months he was free.

It was an odd feeling and one he did not care to examine in any close detail. With a sudden surfeit of options, he had chosen to go to the old pub "The Green Dragon." It had been a hasty decision, but Lowe was hungry enough, certainly. Only Gort had always used to be here. He hadn't remembered.

Forcing a smile out of the depths of his ruminations, he turned to his two companions, "What'll you have?"

Arthur shrugged. "No idea. Suppose I came here to get away from the crowd."

Lowe only half feigned the shock. "You? Surely not."

The golden-haired centaur didn't even crack a smile. "The war changed me, Lowe. Don't have as much interest in people. Or women."

_Well that's certainly a change. _"Don't be too sure," he warned. "Could just be after-effects. You might be back at where you were in a few weeks."

"Somehow I doubt that. Just some ale for me, I think."

"Suit yourself." Lowe was fairly proud of that. Despite his attempts to be disinterested, Arthur's changes actually left him more than a little shaken. It seemed an almost complete reversal… but then Lowe was hardly the same person he'd always been either. Why should Arthur be? "And what about you," he asked turning to his second, even more unexpected companion.

Lieutenant Zeffron's youthful features showed a slightly surprising degree of uncertainty. "The steak, I think."

Lowe snorted. "You're a brave man, to be eating that."

"Now don't be scaring the boy needlessly," came a feminine tone. Lowe jerked slightly as he turned to look at the waitress who had made her way over to their table.

He frowned for a moment in the effort of remembrance. _She was named after a flower. _Disturbed at the way this woman had become a stranger, for he certainly recognized her nonetheless, he muttered, "Ales all around and the steak for the boy."

The woman looked at him curiously, but she set off nearly at once. Zeffron cleared his throat, slightly, "I have to object, slightly, to your use of the term 'boy.' You're not even a decade older than me."

"No," said Lowe. "I don't suppose I am. Feels that way though. If you had been in the war with us… that's what it is, you know. The war marked us all, in its way. You weren't there for it, Skull Castle or not."

Zeffron was quiet for a moment. "There's some truth to that," he said at last. "The first time I ever beheld Lord Max up close… he was just a man. And yet he was still a giant."

"That," Lowe replied, "is Max's nature. He would cringe to hear me say it, but he cannot escape being a giant." A queer giddiness built up in Lowe for a moment, and he went on, "That's always been what he is. A monolith. A sort of… Oh, I don't know how to describe it really. And what Max wants more than anything is to get as far away from himself as he can. I don't think he fully realized… well, realizes really, what he did to us. All of us, though certainly it was Anri who felt it… We looked up to him, placed our trust in him, admired him… and it was justice that he did. But not uncompromising justice. And then he seemed to give up…" Lowe shook his head, not quite aware that he was rambling. "It broke us in some fundamental way. And we still need him…"

"Or maybe he's right," Arthur suggested into the silence following Lowe's little monologue.

Lowe glanced at him, tired, slightly embarrassed by his outburst, yet skeptical as well. "I hope my healing had nothing to do with this new attitude of yours."

Arthur sighed, looking as though he didn't quite see Lowe. "I don't know. Things have changed." The waitress had gotten back by now with the tankards for each of them. Arthur took a long reflective pull at his. "Though that does raise one point. How much did Gong have to do with my recovery?"

Lowe jutted his jaw out, considering for a long moment. "A lot," he said at last. "I probably couldn't have done it all without his help. The infection was very bad." Curiously enough, even as Lowe spoke, it wasn't the monk that he thought of. It wasn't Arthur either, or even Max. His thoughts had turned back to Mae, back to the confession he had pried out of her, the sense of that bond between them… And why he couldn't say.

"He talked a great deal of some kingdom called Highland, though I couldn't make out any real connection to it."

Zeffron spoke up unexpectedly. "Highland was a kingdom that was wiped out roughly fifty years ago, my lords. Something of a mystery to this day."

Arthur raised a brow. "Interesting. That's more or less what he said… though he also added some vague rambling about a dwarf."

Lowe's head shot up. _A dwarf…_ It couldn't be, it shouldn't be, but it almost had to. The idea fit pretty well with so many small details. And Max's attitude towards Gort tended to suggest that as well. As a healer, he was well aware that nearly anybody could be capable of nearly anything, but even so… _Gods, I am so tired. _"You'll be going to Manarina, I hear," he said for the sake of something to say.

"Yes. I will. High Mage of Manarina… all I grasp are the basics of two, three spells, and yet Otrant chose me. Took surprisingly little getting used to." He took another long drink from his tankard. "I leave in the morning."

Something prompted Lowe to push it. "You saved Alterone, you know. You should say something to Torl. And the others. You owe it to them. You should at least say goodbye."

Arthur was silent again, and Zeffron looked somewhat uncomfortable. Lowe felt a flash of pity for the young soldier; he'd stumbled into something almost wholly personal here and he probably felt like he was intruding.

"You're right," Arthur said finally. "I should. But I won't." He tossed a coin carelessly onto the table, as he rose and left.

---

"Queen Anri," Ward grated in his harsh tones. "It gives me great pleasure to see you in Guardiana once again. And to be graced with your presence so quickly upon your arrival… I could have wished for nothing more."

_In other words,_ Max thought irritably, _it's bloody inconvenient._ Still, he could hardly fault Ward on his courtesy, or indeed his courage.

"Lord Luke," he was saying, with courtesy so chill it was like to freeze Luke's blood, "Lady Mae." He nodded curtly to Jarl, showing something that seemed almost to be respect. And at last, he turned his cold gaze to Max.

Max stared back into those cold snake eyes for several moments. Abruptly Ward inclined his head slightly, offering a curt, "Lord Max."

"Thank you for your promptness, my lord regent," Anri said, matching his monotone. "This room is very comfortably furnished." She sat down at the polished, hard wood table, and began with a note of briskness to her tone, now that the pleasantries had been dismissed with. "We have a great deal to discuss."

"Indeed, Your Grace. If it would not be objectionable to you, there are a handful of matters that I have already drawn up to bring to your attention."

One of the queen's eyebrows rose, somewhat ironically. "By all means."

"First and foremost," Ward declared, "there is the matter of your coronation. Assuming that it is agreeable to you, the matter can easily be arranged for tomorrow afternoon. Additionally, there is the question of a new coinage. Amongst my other duties, I have had several designs prepared for inspection at your leisure. Then there are several honors, lands, titles that certain of our lords would appreciate having confirmed, a small matter to be sure." For the first time he paused, adjusting his high velvet collar. "And then there are some military proposals that I should like to place before the crown."

Jarl interposed mildly, "Might I be informed as to these proposals? They rather directly are in my province, I do believe."

"Lord Commander. You may evaluate the proposals if you wish; there have been some minor changes since you last saw them."

"Ah." Jarl looked somewhat pained as he turned to Anri. "Your Grace, I approve some of the basic concept of the Lord Regent's proposal, but the execution thereof I must unequivocally oppose. The complete decentralization of power in the army would be disastrous at best."

"Lord Luke proved my concerns well enough, I would say."

"Sir Luke," Luke muttered, but Ward paid him no heed.

"With your absence my dear Lord Commander, and so much of the army gone with you, I had no proper replacement, and even as Lord Regent, I lacked the authority to properly adjust to the situation."

"You won't solve that problem, Lord Ward, merely by taking all of the power out of the hands of the officers. That might curb some of the difficulty, but it creates quite another."

"I was forced to make use of mercenary scum to clean up the infestation of bandits in this area, thanks to that attitude," Ward said, for the first time with the hint of a snap in his voice. "I think it is for the queen to say whether or not my proposal has merit."

Unable to keep quiet Max said, "Mercenaries aren't inherently bad," thinking of Pelle.

Ward's gaze snapped back to Max, and again, he could feel the power of the man's gaze, weighing, evaluating, judging him. And analyzing his comment as well. "A tangent, my lord," he said at last. "But I apologize for my poor choice of words."

Max returned the gaze, really looking at Ward, really trying to see him. What he saw was an overweight, bald, richly dressed, crippled man approaching old age. A dangerous man in Max's estimation. His gaze fell from Ward's face to the hilt of the knife that still hung on his belt. The old king had given it to Ward once, he remembered.

In the meantime Anri had stirred. "Very well, my lord regent. Schedule the coronation for tomorrow afternoon as you offered. I shall consider your other proposals in the meantime. However, a complete and thorough investigation must begin as well; I want to examine our finances, our foreign relations, our domestic strengths. I want inventories, and to confirm my own loyal councilors. To that end, I'll have Mae raised to a general now. We can affirm duties in more detail later. And we must have a strong presence as our friends are placed into their own kingdoms. Guardiana must maintain a strong showing for the moment."

"There is one other thing, Your Grace," Ward said softly, oh so softly. "General Torl authorized me to act in his stead in Alterone even as the war raged. I did what I could for Alterone, first with the help of King Regis and later on my own, and yet the recovery will be a slow difficult process. Despite our own depleted resources, there is much that could be done. And the precedent is established, more than once even…"

"_No_," said Max hoarsely, breaking into the momentary silence. "Your Grace, we cannot, we must not do this. It would be wrong, so wrong… so…"

"My lords," Jarl broke in quickly. "Surely we can discuss this in a civilized fashion."

"Be quiet Jarl." Anri rose, pacing over to the window, looking down onto the rejoicing streets of Guardiana, resting the palms of her hands on the stone of the windowsill. "The power is there for the taking," she said quietly. "All of it. And I want it. I want it all." She glanced over her shoulder right at Max for a long moment before turning her gaze out the window again. "I know that now."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The sun had begun its gradual descent nearly an hour ago by Alf's estimation, and he was eager to find shelter for the night. He'd hurried throughout nearly all the night the last two days, but even he couldn't last forever without any sleep. And besides, the pursuit would probably have given up by now… Still, it might not have, so he'd need some damn _good _shelter. And now was the right time to look for it. It wasn't dark yet, but it was getting there. And Alf hoped to be safely ensconced by the time the last flicker of light had gone.

_That stupid slut deserved to die_, he consoled himself.

_You might have done it less publicly_, Pazort complained.

Alf set his jaw and trudged onward for several minutes. "Sorry," he grunted at last, slipping back into the spoken language. The bond he shared with his only friend worked on just a mental level, but every once in a while Alf would answer him out loud. Not so much anymore… Not since… when had he last done it? It must have been around the time he'd first worked his way across the seas to Rune. What a mistake that had been. All he had hoped for was a reasonable life, but no, his good trust had been abused by nearly everyone he'd met… trash like that Ward of Guardiana had dared to disdain him… and that stupid woman back in the little backwater he'd passed through.

He had to admit it, his temper had just snapped. The woman had deserved to die for treating him like that, but still… only now some of the local boys had been chasing after him, meaning to bring him to justice. Justice indeed. There was no justice in the world, Alf had learned that once, though he forgot exactly how it had happened. Probably when he had been in Parmecia… though he didn't remember that either. He only remembered coming to Rune. And Pazort.

_Look, there!_

Alf's gaze swept up, trying to fix his attention on whatever Pazort had seen. After a moment, he realized what it was. "That glow's more than the sun, isn't it?" he muttered nervously.

Pazort's tones were warning. _Aye. Most like someone else is in there. I'd call it a fire…_

Alf considered the difficulty before him for several tentative moments. Finally he grunted, his hand tightening on his sword as he crept forward. It was unlikely he'd find anything better than this cave, and that meant that he intended to take it. If there was anyone else in there… well it would be a simple matter of survival.

He took another few steps forward, feeling Pazort's anxiety. The dark elf was cautious by nature, and he was doubtless apprehensive about any unnecessary encounters, but that was for Alf to judge. Even those bandits who had dared try to extort him… well he and Rodrik had settled that lot.

He took another step forward, and slipped on the loose gravel. He uttered a loud curse as he lurched into the cave, face-down. A voice greeted him as he started pushing his way up, "Well, that was interesting. If you'd care for my advice, try sneaking when the sun won't be flashing your shadow all about everywhere. Works much better."

Snarling inarticulately, Alf stumbled to his feet, thrusting his blade out. Something, though he wasn't sure what, stopped him from immediately attacking however. Perhaps it was the arresting quality that the other individual possessed… or perhaps he just wanted to talk to somebody other than Pazort for once.

The other man was studying him cautiously as well. At a glance, Alf put this man down as a few years older than himself, tallish and slim with long, tangled brown hair and pale skin.

_Alf_… Pazort sounded uneasy. _We would be best with this one dead. _

On the other man's face was an expression of a similar sort of strained caution. He finally said, "Well you seem to be armed, so I think I'll just invite you to share my current, humble abode." He had a curious way of speaking, bold enough certainly, but slowly with long breaths in-between several of his words, slight stammering as he changed what he was saying. There was also an edge of mockery to his tone, but Alf did not take offense.

"My… thanks." Alf seated himself, still keeping a hard grip on his sword. He could feel Pazort's discomfort, but for once he chose to pay it no mind. He was curious, anyway.

The other man remained nervous, moreso by his body language than by his expression. The expression was curious too, very still, giving away little… and yet there were traces of a certain amount of humor, a certain amount of cynicism as well. Truly a very striking individual.

Searching for something to say, Alf finally grunted, "Who the bloody hell are you?"

The man started slightly, his long fingers playing with a piece of rock. "Lewys. And you?"

Alf settled down a bit more comfortably, sure of his ground now. He'd have to be careful of course, but he was still confident enough for the nonce… and curiously drawn to this man, this Lewys, he must admit. There would be time in the future to ascertain all the essentials however. In the meantime, disarm suspicions. It was the first rule.

---

The attack came in the pre-dawn chill as they had expected it would. The group of bandits had been pursuing them for close to two days. _This is what I get for my noble impulses. _ Fortunately, Musashi reflected, they had been able to choose the grounds of this confrontation. He feared no foe in battle; nonetheless it was hard to not compare this meeting with those he had fought with the Shining Force. Under such circumstances, with such support, he might have sprinted off confidently, but here, he and Fool had no recourse but to fight back to back and to keep the high ground.

A spear jabbed at his leg and Musashi was only just fast enough to shift his weight. A negligible change in direction under any other circumstance, but in this case it meant death for his opponent. Musashi watched impassively as the man fell away into the mist, slain by the quick slash to shoulder and neck. But there was another man to take his place, his blade already out, biting into Musashi's shoulder…

With a slight stumble and a harsh yell, Musashi still managed to score a glancing blow to his opponent's chest. It clanged into metal, armor of some kind, and the man was already attacking again. Musashi dived low, tackling the man's legs. With a grunt of surprise, the man fell. On his way down, Musashi's blade clipped his hip.

Scrambling back up to Fool's back, Musashi abruptly realized that Fool was on his back, barely able to keep up his end of the fight. In these confines the fact that the foe was nearly a score strong and that they were only two meant everything. Still, the battle had taken its toll on the attacker's as well, there couldn't be more than a dozen left by now. If he managed to kill just a few more, break their nerve…

He lunged forward, deflecting a blow that probably would have killed Fool. This opponent seemed outraged and sent a sweeping cut out and down, but Musashi, recalling an obscure move that Lord Max had once taught him, twisted the direction of the cut slightly with a flick of the wrist. The man had to jump backwards unsteadily to avoid slicing his own foot and Musashi lunged again. This time the katana took the man straight through the chest.

He moved instinctually back to the front he had been fighting on, and as he expected, there were maybe five of the remaining men advancing on him at once. Musashi didn't waste time, having already recognized that there was only one way for him to prevail if Fool was out of the fight… Taking a single half-step back, he summoned the energy within his blade as he had once done for the Shining Force, fighting Gordon of Iom. A blue-white flash of energy, blinding in its intensity, swept down the little knoll, tearing through all but two of the advancing enemies at once. Musashi winced, half-blinded for a moment, but the two men looked more than a little hesitant to advance... when another sword swept down, nearly wrenching Musashi's katana from his grip.

He stumbled backward, away from the big man advancing on him now. This one was better armored than even the other man Musashi had slain, and his strength was enormous. Clearly the leader.

Attacking with surprising speed in such a large man, Musashi barely caught the next cut in time. They exchanged another flurry of blows as he stepped back again, and stumbled hard. The leader came forward ferociously again, only to catch his blade on Fool's.

Fool attacked again instantaneously, extending fully… and then his leg buckled beneath him with another one of those dry crackling sounds. The leader started in hard, but Musashi had regained his feet by this time and jumped straight into the path with his blade outstretched… which slammed through his opponent's vulnerable abdomen, up through his rib-cage and into his heart, killing him instantly.

As the man crashed back down the knoll, Musashi readied himself for another strike, and then realized that the attack had ceased. His plan had worked. The enemy had lost its nerve. "Gods," he gasped, crashing down himself, surprised at how tired he was. "If we survive any longer than this…"

After another moment or so, he forced himself upright, stumbling down the knoll to have a look at the bodies. He detested looting, but their supplies were nearly shot, and anyway these men had had no honor of their own…

_"From… behind?" Blood dribbled down Hanzou's visage. _

With a brief shudder, Musashi pushed that memory away. Hanzou's shade was the only thing left in the world that the samurai did fear… not because the ninja had been right, but because of what Musashi himself had done. And he had compounded that shame by fleeing rather than facing justice at the hands of Lord Max…

With an angry kick at the corpse before him, Musashi turned away from the lifeless body. _I don't need to bloody well loot anything. _

Fool remained lying on his back, gasping loudly. Concern quickly eroded all the other dark thoughts washing through Musashi's mind. He jogged wearily up to his companion. "Fool…" A glance told him the problem. "Your leg… got you good, didn't they? Here, let me…" He started to kneel, reaching for the clasps of the greaves on Fool's legs, when a hard slap took him in the face, knocking him the rest of the way down.

_"No_." Fool's voice was a cold, hard rasp. "Bloody well not under my armor."

A slow flush crept up Musashi's face. "I was trying to help, you high-minded bastard!"

"High-minded… heh, that's a good one." In a moment Fool's voice had changed to a pained wheeze. "Gods, this useless damn leg…"

Musashi rose again. "Then _let me help you!_" He came forward, and softened in a moment at the twitch in Fool's eyes. "Gods, you're really hurt… you can barely move that leg."

"I can bloody well move," he growled, struggling against the ground. Fool sat half-way up and then crashed down. "I can move," he insisted.

"I can't carry you," Musashi warned.

Despite the pain, Fool's voice sounded faintly amused. "And leave… your companion to die? Not very honorable, is it?"

Musashi turned away, staring out into the forests all around, his shoulders tight. He didn't want to leave Fool for any number of reasons. Truly it would be dishonorable to do so… and stupid as well. Fool knew the land better than Musashi did, and if he was set upon by any more attackers like they had been today… well Musashi wouldn't place any bets on his own survival. And even aside from his own self-interest and honor, Musashi liked Fool. He didn't want to see him die. "Bloody brigands," he swore.

"Not… brigands." Musashi looked back in surprise. "Fought you too good to be brigands," Fool gasped. "And anyway… armed. Emblem looked like… Carlion's. Deserters, probably."

Musashi glanced over at the corpse of the leader with interest. All good points to be sure. The attackers had been rather well-armed now that he chanced to think on it… and good fighters for the most part. As for the armor… there had been a mostly scratched out emblem on it. _Carlion._ He didn't know of any Carlion, but the name sounded Protectorian to Musashi's ears. Which all led him to wonder how Fool would have known…? "You've good eyes," he offered at last. _Aye, and confidently hiding in Mishalea's own dungeons… _

He came to a sudden decision. Puzzling out Fool's past could come later. "You'll have to let me help you. And if you don't, I can wait 'till you're too weak to stop me."

"Damn you," growled Fool. "Damn your bloody honor… bloody friends." His voice sounded a little weaker though. Indeed, Musashi was very nearly alarmed at how fast he seemed to be fading. "Remember," he rasped. "Priest. Trees. Rock. Between the trees. Hidden… dammit. _Hidden_. Oh gods..." he groaned. "Mad…"

Whether he was applying the adjective to himself, to Musashi, to the attackers, or to this hidden priest—if that was indeed what Fool meant—Musashi couldn't tell. But with how fast Fool was sinking… _There'd better be some kind of priest around here, because my healing skills are definitely too limited for this anyway. _

---

"Mae…" Lord Max fiddled nervously with a piece of parchment. "I want you to know. I want _somebody_ to know."

Mae felt her throat close. _Gods be good,_ she thought, _it's true. King Max…_ "My… my congratulations my lord." The rumors had fled thickly about the city for the past few days… ever since the armies of Guardiana had made their way home. Home. An easy word to say, but hard to define. And even harder for Mae to like. Home had been Varios, but now there was only Jarl… _Yet I have known Jarl for years as well. And he is a good knight._ Max didn't seem to have heard her.

"I… oh, dammit all. I'm sending Warderer away now, before Anri can come to judgment on him. If that happens, she'll not harm Hindel or Cameela either and…" he buried his face in his hands. "I know that's her intention. It must be… gods be good, I've got to stop this. I didn't mean to fight through this damn war just see Anri fall apart because of me… my… rhetoric. But gods be good, defying my queen…"

Mae stared. Lord Max truly seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and to spare Warderer… _It is justice though. _

Seemingly oblivious to her silence, he rambled on. "Warderer doesn't even have Iom anymore. It would be unjust to execute him… we could not have won the war without him. Not after Otrant… not after…" He stared vacantly ahead into space.

"Very… good, my lord." The words were as hard to speak as any ever had been. Not even because she disagreed with him, Lord Max was quite right. It was the way he leaned on her, even seemed to need her… Lord Max had a logical mind but he was a deeply sentimental man, very emotional, and he needed some sort of edifice of logic. Mae had made herself into that without meaning to, but it was what she was now and what she would always be. And yet Mae had some affection for Queen Anri herself…

_And now. The rumors speak of little but the necessity of Anri's marriage. Rumors that she and Max… and why not? He is most like the greatest hero that has been seen in these lands or ever will be. _

That logic was but a cold comfort; fortunately Mae was practiced at making do with cold comforts. If only Queen Anri would have let her fade away into irrelevance… Still, Mae was nothing if not dutiful. She would follow them both as she had to. Queen Anri was not only Mae's friend and sovereign, she had asked for Mae's help. She had commanded it of Ward, whom she had not yet decided what to do with, though Anri spoke of little else. Anri deserved her loyalty. As did Max even though _he_… Burning with cold self-recrimination Mae could only remind herself of the truth, that she and she alone was responsible for what Max had done to her. Because, truly, he hadn't done anything. She had done this to herself. _It was not Lord Max who drew some essence of my soul to himself. It was only ever me. _

Max sighed deeply, looking more tired than she had ever seen him. "All it requires is authorization… that no guard would think of questioning. My word…" He sighed again. "You see, Gong has offered to step in and take Warderer to his cottage, to start with anyway. They're both standing by. All that needs be done is for the word to be spoken… I just have to do it…"

Mae frowned, momentarily distracted from her maudlin ponderings. And so again, Gong had stepped in just where he would be most useful, where none other would be willing to step… Mae found that curious. "I'll do it my lord," she said abruptly, the words hard and dry in her throat.

"What?" Max seemed confused.

"I will give the order. You…" she paused a moment searching for the right lie to come off of her lips. "You can ill afford bad blood with the queen at this juncture, and as there is a chance of bad blood being taken over this… even if she believes the action to be taken at your discretion, you will not be discredited. For Guardiana to recover you must remain an effective member of court for the duration of our first several councils. You cannot afford to lose any immediacy of presence."

_I'll do it_, she thought, _because I love you. The same as I killed Tao for love of you… though that you can never forgive me. Even though you knew the bitch had to die… Because I love you…_

It startled her how open that wound still was, over Tao. She had never cared for the mage at all, but it had been hard to kill her nonetheless. And even more, it was what Tao had meant to Max. He had loved her at least as much as he had loved any of them, and her treason, her death had broken his heart. He would never look to Mae with any true warmth for that…

"Mae… you shouldn't do this for me."

_Yes I should. Because I love you. _"I do it for Guardiana, my lord."

Max sighed. "You know what I really hate Mae? Even more than the soul that has turned to steel and shadow before my very eyes? I hate the way that I have to lean on you to do the things I have to do. The strength I take from you…" He sighed a final time, rising from his chair. "Thank you. I don't know if I could have done this without your support." He walked over to the door. "But there are other debts to pay."

---

Ian winced, struggling against the humiliation of barely being able to walk on his own. To get to the harbor alone, he'd had to lean on Hawel and Sonette most of the way. He hated that. He hated being crippled. And he hated his decision to be king.

"Ian!" The swordmaster's head whipped up and around at the sound of his uncle's voice. His uncle… the only blood he'd ever known. And the man who had forced him to become royalty… _Well, I made my choices. Its Uncle Max's compassion anyway that makes him who he is. That's why he did it. _

"Uncle Max," he said, injecting his tone with as much sardonic humor as he could summon on the spur of the moment. It was the bitterness that he was left with. Eiku's final vengeance beyond the war… He could just picture the dead commander smiling down in hell, wherever he was. And certainly, this irony ought to bring a smile even to Eiku's face. "Sure you're not getting rid of me too soon, Uncle? It'll be bad image when I'm not there at the coronation in the afternoon."

"Ian… for that I'm sorry. I know how little you wanted this." Uncle Max looked a little slumped, a little tired himself in truth. "But I need to make sure that everything's accounted for, before…" He smiled, a bit wistfully. "Well it's no good indulging in speculation. Anri would never use you anyway."

One of Ian's eyebrows shot up. So this was all part of the larger rift between Uncle Max and the queen? _Bloody lovely. _"For that matter," he said lightly, "was there a reason for such an _early_ voyage? I believe the sun only came up a few minutes ago."

Uncle Max actually laughed at that. "More of the same, more of the same. Had to make sure it happened while there was still room for it to happen." He stopped suddenly, looking worried. "You're sure you want to go through with this?"

_No. But why would I be?_ "For the good of the realm, and all that Uncle. Besides," he grimaced, gesturing at his side, "I can hardly keep on doing the kind of work that I do."

Max sighed, but a weary smile was on his face nonetheless. "I am sorry, you know. I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other anyway… normalizing relations and all that."

"Of course," Ian said dryly. "It won't be that difficult anyway. Sending the leader of Rudo back with me lends my name a bit of weight, wouldn't you agree? And besides my… lineage, there's always Kokichi. Useful to have such a recognizable member of the Shining Force. It feels like quite an escort, Uncle."

"Speaking of which, you're taking all your friends to court with you?"

"Of course," said Ian. "I'll have to have somebody or other to keep me some company. Besides, I was thinking that Hawel could run the kingdom while I was doing something more interesting."

The young mage shoved Ian slightly, looking mildly offended. Max chuckled again. Hawel turned back to Max, offering his hand. "It's been an honor sir."

"Yes, well, it looks like things are in good order here at last." He hesitated. "I'll see the ship off, at least."

Ian shrugged. "Your move, Uncle." He turned to Sonette and Hawel and all the rest of them, Kokichi and Krin as well. "Go on. Start boarding. I want a last word with my Uncle, and I'll manage my way up somehow or other."

He waited until they were alone and finally sighed. "I wish Ridion was coming with us. I miss that old dwarf, you know. He did so much for me…and for us in the war. I couldn't have done what I've done without him."

Max smiled weakly. Of course he hadn't known Ridion, but at least he could understand. "Well… at least he died like a hero. All that any of us can ask for, I suppose."

"Yes. A hero. A hero of the war. Well," said Ian, surprised at how desolate he felt, "goodbye, Uncle. I've…" he took a deep breath and impulsively hugged Max. "I was honored to fight with you. And I love you." With that, Ian pulled away, and started hobbling up the gangplank.

He'd be lying if he said he had no regrets, but for better or for worse, this was the course left open to him… the right thing to do. So why did he feel so bloody reluctant? Finally giving into his humiliation and calling for help to make the rest of the way to his cabin, Ian brushed off his regrets as well he could. He would be a king.

---

Rather than sleeping, Alf and Lewys had spent nearly the entire night fencing carefully with each other, trying to make their measure of each other. Finally Lewys had evidently become satisfied; or at least confident that Alf wouldn't murder him, enough so to fall asleep.

Alf on the other hand, had continued to sit up, staring into the dying flames. They had a hypnotic quality… This decision wasn't prompted by any sort of distrust, but he wanted to ponder this new acquaintance he'd made, what he'd learned. There was something… something about Lewys that just drew Alf to him. He was cautious, oblique in what he said, but there was still this style to the man, some sort of presence…

He glanced at the curled up figure, wondering what Lewys had thought of him. No, though, Lewys was very articulate despite his peculiar way of speaking and though there was something tangibly… regretful, nervous, almost bitter about him, Alf couldn't help being drawn to him.

_You should kill him now,_ came Pazort's voice.

_What do you take me for? Gods be good, he's sleeping! _

_That is usually the best time to kill them, you know. _

_NO!_ Alf refused. He liked Lewys. And besides, he'd been thinking, two a safer number than one, a good deal surer on the road at any rate, and besides, there was still that magnetic quality to the sleeping man. And anyway, only a gutless craven would murder a sleeping man.

_Look at him Alf_, Pazort urged. _This is not an honest man. I grant you, he could probably handle a weapon, but he's hardly in the right kind of shape to be a traveler, and he has no others about him. In this out of the way spot as well… even if he's honest as far as it goes, which isn't very, he'll at the least be dangerous…_

Alf set his shoulders in firmly. In this one matter, he would not take Pazort's advice, he was resolved. And so, for the first time, he threw up a mental wall. He didn't need to listen to this.

After a moment or so, Alf hesitantly ventured into that place that housed his only friend. _Pazort? I didn't… Pazort?_ Momentary panic filled him at the lack of answer, but Alf could still feel Pazort's presence, that intangible quality he had always possessed. He could still feel all of that.

Uneasy with the bad terms that he had left Pazort with (though he refused to entertain any notions of killing Lewys, at least not yet anyway) Alf tried to drift off into sleep. It was no good. Every time he was close to really sleeping, the faces would awaken and disturb him. Fennan, something of a leader amongst the bandits he'd rode with for a time… Rodrik, the mercenary he'd used to free himself from the same bandits, still huge and vitally powerful… that crippled scum, Ward of Guardiana… and even other faces. The names came clearly to him, as clearly as the faces, but he didn't know what any of it meant. He didn't know who any of them were, but he could see their faces and he could know their names and he could know the terror clutching at him… Ser Kaizel and Mars. King Ulrich and Princess Satera. Alec and Morley. Paul and Mike… Cayne…

_"Get up," he howled for the hundredth time at the unresponsive body. "Get up off of the ground and fight me dammit!" Alf was practically weeping as he kicked the ever silent form of Cayne. "You have to get up! Fight me… Why won't you get up?" Weeping and laughing at the same time, he knelt and took Cayne by the shoulders, shaking him, desperate… "Get up," he insisted. "You have to fight, dammit! Get up you miserable son of a bitch! Get up!" _

"Would you like some breakfast?"

Alf jerked upright, his grip tight on his sword. Before even he could start moving forward, the slightly caustic voice continued, "I awakened to discover that you had not murdered me in my sleep, contrary to all expectations. Breakfast seemed like a small enough repayment."

The words were like a shock of cold water. He let the sword fall from his hands. "Wh… what happened?"

"You fell asleep, old lad. Couldn't say why. A waste of time if you ask me. Don't know why I bother to do it anymore." Lewys shook his head. "Memories."

"I… breakfast you say. That's good."

"Well, that was rather the idea behind the institution you know."

Ignoring the sarcasm Alf pounced right at what he was interested at. "Well then… if we're not killing each other, what do you say to traveling companions?"

Lewys shrugged. "Academic conclusion. It'll be safer to keep an eye on each other." After a hesitant moment, he held his hand out. Smiling with pleasure at this new victory, Alf took it and they shook. An alliance.

---

"Dying you say? But this is distressing." Nodding his head several times as if to affirm his own pronouncement, the priest said carefully, "Very, very distressing. Very distressing indeed."

Musashi found the priest nearly as distressing as he evidently found Musashi's terse report. The little hiding place was little more than several inter-connected caves that had been furnished for suitable living, and nearly _impossible_ to find as well… And the priest himself, fat and earnest of speech and, seemingly a bit on the simple side… Gritting his teeth, Musashi suggested, "Seeing that it's so distressing, perhaps you could accompany me back to my friend?"

"Oh, no, no, no. That would not do." Seeming most upset, the priest's head bobbed up and down several more times. "That would most certainly not do. Oh no." He seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"Or you could help me carry him back here?"

"No." The priest sounded more tearful than ever, the fluffy bits of gray hair sticking out of his mostly bald head, bobbing up and down as well. "That would not do, not at all. Oh, Rollo, this is distressing."

"Rollo?"

"Oh. Oh my. Did I forget to mention that I am Rollo? I do that sometimes." He nodded more, sounding positively excited. "I do have so few visitors," he lamented, even as he held out his hand.

Musashi took it, noting the strength of the palm, trying to remember… it seemed that there was something suggestive here… "And my friend?"

"Ah yes. It must be here." Rollo paced back and forth several times, looking deeply troubled. By this point, Musashi had no doubt whatsoever that 'mad' had been meant to describe this man. Rollo, the mad priest, why not? It seemed an accurate enough description to Musashi.

"Of course," Rollo cried abruptly, clapping his hands together, before running over to Musashi. "Your essence will still touch him. Very good." He jumped up and down twice before calming down. "I can bring him here that way." Without any warning, he seized Musashi's arm, chanting some sort of incantation.

Musashi was wary, but he gritted his teeth saying nothing. If his arm seemed to be in any kind of danger, he could always pull it back, or kill the priest. In the meantime, it seemed more likely that… "Finished," Rollo chirped happily. "Oh yes, indeed. Your friend will be in one of the beds now."

Musashi refrained from asking any questions but the pertinent one. "Then perhaps you could heal him?"

Rollo blinked, his mouth falling open. "Oh, but naturally. At once, that should be done. Oh, Rollo, you fool!" He dashed off like a shot.

Musashi just stood there, his mouth a bit agape as well. Still, the whole world seemed to be going mad, so what was this? And anyway, if Fool was really safe then he had other concerns. Where they would go for one thing… And this Rollo... _Gods be good…_ Musashi realized almost simultaneously the two thoughts in his mind, but then he abruptly laughed aloud. As he had thought just a moment ago, why not indeed?

With that he strode off down the narrow hallway carved out of the stone. It only took him a few minutes to find the room that Fool indeed was in, and judging by his peaceful breathing, Rollo had been and gone. He stepped through the door, and Fool's eyes lighted on him.

"Thank you," he grunted after a moment, as contrite as he ever got.

"This Rollo," Musashi began with preamble. "He lives here alone, doesn't he? And you've been this way before." Fool didn't answer. Musashi just continued, "His hiding place is good, but if he needs to hide… and he's saved your life now. Don't you figure we might owe it to him, to offer our company? Or our road?"

"Damn you," Fool growled. "We don't need some fat priest along with us."

Musashi glanced at his leg. "Forgive me if I beg to differ. And anyway… 'Some fat priest?' That's Rollo Thunderfist, isn't it? He's old enough..." Musashi wasn't old enough to remember Rollo's Rebellion, but he knew the tales as well as anyone did. In his prime, Rollo had been a great general of Protectora and then about twenty years ago he had led a rebellion against the same kingdom. He'd been defeated and disappeared… "The right age," Musashi said again, "and his hands have that legendary strength." He shook his head in bafflement. "A little simple, but that wouldn't be so surprising… it's just that you knew he was here, this mad priest... the same way you knew the men who attacked us…"

Fool glared hotly up at Musashi. "Oh very bloody well. We'll make the offer."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Do I have your leave, Your Grace?" Mayfair's tone was a good deal cooler than she had meant it to be. _Although, honestly. If Nick is so far gone that I have to ask about Deanna…_

He didn't appear to have heard her. He was sitting there in the throne, his jaw already clenched. With a quick motion, he held up something to the light, betwixt his thumb and forefinger. A gold coin. "Shriek," he began in his voice of stone, "brought me this as way of his news. He went to deliver a preliminary note of congratulations to Guardiana, as you know… where he discovered that they have already attended to a new coinage."

Mayfair stood there silently, waiting for him to finish. When he said no more, she finally ventured, "And? The significance of this, Your Grace?"

"Yes. The significance of this…" For a moment his face contorted, and he finally held the coin out for her to study. The design was one of Queen Anri standing, her hand held out, as though in casual offer. It was a very natural pose for Anri, Mayfair recalled it immediately. Nick's clenched tones called her back to the present.

"She means to mock me by this. Queen Anri… with all of a queen's graces, and this… It is her way of informing me that I now have her to deal with. Because it was always Lord Max." He spat out the last name as though it were a curse. Mayfair frowned, barely able to hold her displeasure in.

"Your Grace, all has been prepared. Do I have your leave to go?"

"As soon as I've dealt with Deanna, you may board the ship to Pao, yes."

"Thank you," she said, turning away immediately, not willing to stay in his presence any longer than she had to. The last few days had been hard for her. At first she had been concerned for Nick's health over the punishing schedule he kept… and then there had been Iom.

After that she had found it very hard to stomach being in the same room with him, let alone the last discussion she'd had with him on that subject. The rage that nearly escaped his control, enough so for her to see some of it anyway, at that occasion had only further served to distance Mayfair from a man she had once considered her friend… once considered a potential husband, even. If he had loved her, anyway. And now he was her king. It was all she could let him be.

It was the duality within him on that subject though, that so badly frightened Mayfair. She knew Nick well enough, had seen enough of him to know that she was only seeing a very small percentage of some kind of complicated inner rationalization within him. And it was the knowledge that Nick's response was a good deal more complicated that kept her lingering on the issue.

Her step quickened as she turned a corner of the hallway. Nick was not a stupid man, nor was he completely unreasonable... except in this. His complete and absolute refutation of love was very honest as far as it went, but she couldn't say just how far that was. His desperation to convince her… indeed, the very lack of reasoning for his heartless decision to wed Deanna and Yeesha alone spoke of much there was going on beneath the surface.

And all of that was ignoring the way in which he seemed too determined to throw more and more duties at her. Mayfair privately suspected that he was trying to see if she would break under the pressure, trying to prove something to himself by watching her flounder with the issues. Indeed, the only two matters which he had not involved her at all had been that of Lord Erryk Stire, a subject on which he would apparently brook no defiance, and that of Captain Alexandros, a subject which he evidently did not trust her to handle to his satisfaction.

"General Mayfair!"

Mayfair looked up and smiled, slightly uncertainly. She did not feel prepared to handle Randolph either at the moment, not after the last meeting she'd had with him… "Lord Commander," she said politely, "what can I do for you?"

He inclined his head slightly. "A moment of your time, no more General. King Nicholas intends you still to oversee the training of these youths, yet you are to be gone for at least week now. I should like to ask you how best to proceed."

She frowned. "I take it that you think we have enough recruits to begin training?" Randolph nodded, standing slightly further from her than was courteous. That was understandable of course, Randolph was doubtless embarrassed that last he had come to her he had been completely drunk. "Does the king mean to have you with him in coming battle?"

"He does." Randolph hesitated for a moment and then added, "Power is still too centralized. There are only very few of us with true authority."

Mayfair sighed. "Very well. Who do you intend to leave to hold Castle Cypress?"

"I had thought Sir Claude."

"In that case, have him oversee the initial organization of training," she told him. "And have Yeesha help him. Between the two of them, they should be able to handle it for a week or so. We'd have likely needed them to do something or other sooner or later anyway."

"As you suggest," he said stiffly. Mayfair smiled slightly; that was typical of Randolph. As a general could not technically give orders to a lord commander, he would phrase it as a 'suggestion.' "Also," the centaur continued hesitantly, "if I might… broach a subject of a slightly personal nature…"

_Not again. _"Yes," she prompted him, only hoping it could be dealt with quickly.

"The Lady Aela has been making enquiries about the castle and I have answered for her what I must, by needs of duty. Yet, as of yesterday… she has been… well, soliciting my duties in a quite… ah, feminine way."

With a struggle, Mayfair managed to refrain from bursting out laughing. "You don't mean to tell me that she's tried to seduce you?"

Randolph's face, which had been gradually reddening, paled and then reddened again. "General," he said stiffly, "I should not mean to suggest any such thing. And yet I… admit that I am not well versed in such matters or the etiquette peculiar to being placed in such a… such a…" He nodded, stamping a leg slightly. "Though I am not unaware of such matters, I have a certain reluctance given the king's reluctance that is…" he stopped again, evidently aware that he'd stopped making that much sense. "She has asked me dine with her."

"Flirting then," Mayfair corrected dryly. Still, she had to admit personally that she was at somewhat of a loss how to go about advising Randolph what to do, not the least because of her own inexperience… _Or Aela's untrustworthiness. _"Randolph, you've been doing your duty, and that's really all you need to be doing. If she has asked you to dinner, then I expect you should go… if for no other reason than the fact you could discover some of what she intends."

Randolph nodded, still looking nervous. "Aye… I see. Thank you, general." He retreated quickly.

Mayfair resumed walking. She had to admit that had been rather amusing, though she still wished that Randolph hadn't done it, if only because of the way the centaur had come to see her two nights ago. For that matter, Randolph probably wished the same thing, proud as he was. He had been more than a little drunk.

She shook her head, well aware that it wasn't within her power to solve Randolph's problems for him. It was the feeling that Gyan would have been a better choice for the post that had done it to Randolph. He had felt; still felt probably, that there was just no real reason to put him in the position over Gyan, and that conflicted his loyalties. And that wouldn't be a very easy thing to bear with a king like Nick, with his rhetoric of duty, and the oaths that a Lord Commander swore…

Mayfair pushed it to the back of her mind. She couldn't afford to get wrapped up in Randolph's problems when she had so many of her own. Not the least of which was blindness of her king.

That scene he'd just caused, for example. Queen Anri's choice of a new coinage had naught to do with Cypress and it certainly wasn't offensive. And still, Nick had taken it as a personal affront to his authority. Still that had been revealing in and of itself. Nick seemed to see the world in terms of raw, powerful forces. He ignored Ward who had doubtless overseen the matter of coinage in the first place and focused his anger on Queen Anri… another raw powerful force in a wider sense. And if that was how Nick truly saw things, then might he not break down much of the world into a dichotomy between love and duty?

Mayfair shied away from the thought. She wanted to understand Nick, yes, but she would not empathize with something that… inhuman. That overly simplified. Yet, if she refused… she wanted so much to find something to explain or counter-balance these flaws in Nick, something that could make her find the better man that he was… _Something other than marrying him. _

The thought had certainly crossed her mind a few times. Was she responsible for this change in Nick? Regardless of the true nature of what his love would be, did he just need her in some fundamental way that could not be denied? Was she beholding the results of her own refusal to marry him?

Even so, even if she was, she could hardly offer to marry him now. Having seen what she had seen, the mere thought was little more than repugnant. And when it wasn't, it was only pity that she felt for Nick… And she did pity him, despite everything else. The traces of greatness were still there within him, but everything he had started doing now… He was either completely unprincipled outside his devotion to Cypress, or he was suffering from some sort of massive emotional stigma.

Much as Mayfair longed for it to be the latter, each and every action he made, suggestion he had, or insult that he perceived seemed to suggest the former. The matter of Lord Erryk Stire, for example. He had refused the suggestion of a siege, seemingly out of hand, and was instead contemplating an outright attack, apparently as a matter of pride. Never mind the honest Cyprians that would die for his pride.

Or alternately, his suggestion that he, with all that he prated about justice and honor, would invite Lord Stire to Castle Cypress under false pretenses. The prince that Mayfair had long known was fast disappearing in the king that now dominated her country, and it was frightening.

But Nick was a just man. If nothing else, that alone was the one last great quality left in him… Her step quickened. And even that he seemed to be twisting into something too destructive to survive…

She turned another corner, running slap-bang into Gyan. The beastman looked amused. "Preoccupied, Mayfair?"

She tried to return the grin, but she couldn't. She had never cared much for Gyan and with how close he was to Nick and how tangled up in her thoughts…

"Something wrong? Or has Lady Aela got to you too?"

Momentarily distracted Mayfair sputtered, "You mean she's gotten to you?"

Gyan grinned again. "Oh yes. She's sounding me out I think." He winked at her. "If I wasn't so scared of that woman, I would have been very flattered."

Mayfair nodded mechanically. Aela suddenly making trouble just when Mayfair was leaving… and then always Nick…

"Mayfair?" Gyan's tone was gentler than it had been.

"Oh Gyan," she abruptly burst out. "How… Nick's become…" she made a lame little gesture. "You have to understand. What's happened to him?"

Gyan's aspect changed as fast as that. He now looked more tired than anything else. "You judge him too harshly. Nick has been no harder than he's had to be."

"As a prince, maybe, but now… you know what he plans to do about Deanna… Why, Gyan? You're one of his closest friends. Why?"

"Nick does err sometimes. And he needs to be protected from himself. But you don't really understand what he's had to go through to get to where he is today. All his life, he's inspired, perhaps, a grudging amount of respect, but surely no more. And Cypress rejected him in favor of his Uncle. The only thing he's ever been able to ask for is obedience, and even that's not always a sure request for him. If he's grown harder, it's because he doesn't know what else to do."

Mayfair considered the point for several long moments in silence. "I'm sorry Gyan," she said at last. "But I just can't accept that." She walked on, before he could try to explain any more. But it was true, she knew, at least somewhat. She had always known that. But even so… She sighed, stifling her conflicted emotions as best she could. If nothing else, she had her duty, to Cypress if nothing else.

---

"Weak, she says," Nick muttered, glaring out of the room, after Mayfair's retreating form. He had heard the displeasure, the disgust that she tried to mask. _She still thinks me weak. _It outraged Nick more than he could say.

Everything he did, he did for Cypress and all the same, he was judged by Mayfair. She still refused to understand what he had told her, still… He was the victim of ingratitude.

With an effort, he turned his mind back to other, more important matters. Most especially, there was the attack on Lord Erryk Stire. With the Lady Sarah's presence, they would march on the morrow. He had a good plan now… all he had to be willing to do was to pay the price.

Still, grudging though it was, he knew that Alexandros had done him good service. The only problem was justice. It all flowed from justice. Not cruelty. Never that. He would do what he had to. He _would._

Nick slumped in his throne, feeling the weight of his kingship slowly crushing him. Lord Erryk's fate notwithstanding, there was still much to be done to restore Cypress to its full and necessary glory.

The lords would give him no further defiance; except, perhaps, Lady Aela. Still, her defiance would not be an open challenge such as Lord Erryk's was. As long as he could keep her hopeful until he had a good way, a solid way of taking care of that particular aggravation…

It was the rest of Rune he must turn to. The trade agreements would help his economy, but what he truly needed was to spread as much influence as he could. Pao would be his best chance, which was why he'd pushed so hard for the treaty, but even so, the reports of Lord Xotho did discomfit him.

There was nothing specific against him, indeed, mostly just a lot of good, but his rise had been too smooth, too opportune. Nick had a suspicious mind, and he couldn't help wondering, if, perhaps, Xotho had had a hand in the devastation of Pao. His post was built on the promise that he would restore Pao after all, and he was doing that remarkably well, by all accounts. Nick found that suspicious too.

For the rest of it… he needed Rune, but that meant going up against Guardiana. If Queen Anri had not been so swift in returning to her seat of power, then perhaps Nick would have had a shot at Rune, but now he certainly didn't. So he would need to be able to blindside Guardiana instead, as benevolently as possible of course.

It was yet another difficulty amongst many. At that moment, his herald announced, "Lord Warden Gyan, Your Grace."

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed? Gyan," he said calmly, "I did not expect you. Has something come up?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Something has come up." Gyan paused for a moment, stretching luxuriously, and then he said bluntly, "It's about this business in Iom."

Nick felt his shoulders set themselves tightly as he sat up, but he all he said was, "In truth, there is more reason to choosing Yeesha than it may first appear."

"I know."

"You… what?" Nick frowned. "You know?"

"Yes. I understand the reasons you have for this marriage, but they are in fact not legitimate, if you will pardon my saying so. You see, Your Grace, to put it simply, I suggested to Yeesha that she might imply to Deanna that you would be amenable to his requests."

"What?"

Gyan continued smoothly, "The idea was to make Lord Deanna stick his neck out. Get him to let us know what he's really after for the moment. As long as he thought he had a good chance of getting what he wanted from you… well you can see. We found out. And the terms aren't really that bad are they?"

Nick stared blankly, automatically analyzing the suggestion. Politically it did make a good deal of sense, but in that case, why didn't Gyan tell him sooner than this? Unless, of course, he was trying to keep Yeesha from knowing that she'd been used? Or was he just lying? But if so, _why_?

In the meantime, Gyan was giving him a very direct glance. "Given this, there's really no reason to go through with the marriage. Yeesha has no particular circumstances that make her more acceptable than Natasha… and we want to keep Iom loyal do we not?"

_Lying… he must be… but Gyan would not do that to me. Not Gyan. _Feeling something harder in his chest than he'd ever felt before, something sharp and painful, he finally managed, "Aye. Aye. This makes Natasha the better choice."

---

Kokichi stared up at the night sky as the ship sailed on and on, closer to Rudo. He still wasn't sure what had inspired him to come along with Krin; perhaps so that nobody would ask him about Earnest and Vankar…

Still, whatever the reason was, Kokichi was glad to be fleeing Guardiana. He was too old, too broken to be around so many people anymore. At least now he wouldn't have to pretend to be some great hero… and he had never known anyone called Earnest or Vankar anyway. Never.

"Beautiful, isn't it," came a youthful voice to his left.

Kokichi glanced sharply to the side, but he relaxed a little seeing that it was only Hawel. "Aye," he said, looking back at the shifting water, the cold dark sky, the brilliant flickering points of the stars…

"You looked like you needed some company," the mage went on. "I know that I could. Going to Protectora is a big step."

For some reason, Kokichi didn't take offense. Hawel had been in the war at least, even if he hadn't known Earn… even if his experiences had been markedly different than Kokichi's.

"Everything's a big step after something as defining as the war, _heh._"

"I suppose that's true." Hawel lapsed into a moody silence. "Tao and Musashi were traitors," he said, unexpectedly. "I'm sure that means… he must have been too. Makes no sense any other way. But how?"

Kokichi blinked. "_Heh_, what are you talking about?"

"It's not important. Or not very anyway. An academic question now. Perhaps that's why it appeals to me."

Kokichi didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. Perhaps that was the real secret of why he was doing this himself. He didn't know what else to do. Or perhaps it was because he was used to Krin and he didn't see it in himself to be used to anyone else ever again.

Or maybe it was because he really felt close to her. "Only thing left," he whispered to stars. "Only thing."

---

Mae felt like a shadow. A silent white shadow as the high lords of Guardiana prepared for their entrance with the queen. A shadow was perhaps what she could best be anyway. It was better than speaking. It just wasn't better than having to be a witness to everything they had to say to each other. It certainly wasn't that.

Anri sat in a modest wooden chair, looking despondent, while Max paced about nervously. Ward was hosting the event, so he was already out there, along with Luke and other officials of less status. Anri and Max were being kept to the very end. The two titans of Guardiana.

Although Mae wished she could be more certain of them. The only thing she knew for certain now was that Max would not marry Anri. Max would never marry anyone or open his heart in such a way… because of the traitors from the war. _Because of Tao. _It hadn't precisely been a welcome epiphany for Mae, but it hadn't exactly been unwelcome either. _Like most of life, I suppose. _

"I wish I could say that you were wrong," Anri said abruptly. "I think that you were. But I'm not certain. If you'd left Ian here, I might have tried… Oh gods," she burst out, sinking her face into her hands. "I promised myself… I _swore_ I'd be a good queen. As brave and honest and honorable as father… as just as you, Max." She looked up. "But I couldn't do it. Already I know… I wanted the power. I wanted it very badly. It was so hard to walk away from it. And after all the things we've done. All the things we've said to each other… how are we going to make it through this?"

Mae cleared her throat and said quietly, "Your Grace, my lord, it's time."

Max shrugged, stepping to the side to make room for Anri to step up. "Oh I don't know, Anri. We'll make it one way or another." For just a moment, his voice was nearly as sardonic as his nephew's. "We always do."


End file.
